Page 4 of Pawn

“What? No,” Christian speaks up. “Who knows what you’re up against?”

“Christian’s right,” Allie nods, eyes on the road. “As much as I wanna bail, you’re not going there alone. We’re doing this together.”

Looking around at them, they all look as determined as I am. Well, all except Isaac. He looks like he’s about to hurl but I’m with him on that one too. Still, the heaviness in my chest feels lighter. “Okay,” I nod with a weak smile. “I owe you guys.”

Allie gives me a small smile in return, one I thought I’d never see again. “You bet your ass you do.”

Two

Damien

I’m a prisoner in my own home.

A lock of dark hair hangs in front of my face, my vision blurred from a stinging eye.

“Fuck,” I mutter, head hanging over my knees.

Metal digs into my skin, hands cuffed behind me. There’s no whiskey in my system to fight the pain from the sucker punches to my body still making me groan. No pills in my system to soothe the torturous gut-wrench when I think about never seeing her again.

“D-Damien,” Willow whispers my name through her sniffles. She hasn’t stopped since I found her. “Damien?”

I’ve been avoiding her gaze from across the room, my back against a pool table leg, hers against a column. It’s like we’re in the middle of a horror movie, her wide brown eyes filled with fear and worry. While she’s the innocent Rowland, Willow has a stare almost as deadly as her sister’s.

Medusa. My Medusa.

“I’ll get you out of here,” I promise with a wince.

Looking up makes my head and neck hurt. The pain shooting through my ribs and abs tells me I already have bruises that’ll take more than a spa day to clear. There’s still a throb in my head from where that fucker knocked me out but I’m not leaving Willow to this greedy banshee. Jo will never forgive me. Dead or alive.

“How?” she asks, snorting back the snot dripping out her nose onto her hoodie.

Taking a look around the room again, I’m still looking for an answer. “Trust me.”

I’ve been saying that a lot but I’m not sure if she should. I don’t know what we’re up against. The only way out of this basement is a small window above the bar. Or the staircase leading upstairs where Aunt Crazy is.

As fucked up as it is, sitting here cuffed only reminds me of how I love having Jo all to my own.

Her body, those breaths, gasps and moans.

Willow’s smartwatch sits smashed on the floor, the last way I was able to hear her voice. I’ve been replaying her voice in my head, the only thing keeping me sane. I hate the way she sounded. Scared. Terrified. Like she was pleading for me not to go. But it’s kinda hard to talk when you’re about to get battered.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Someone’s coming down the stairs, my body tensing, jaw tightening with it. The round bald man that’s been roughing me up appears in the entrance.

“Did I hear talking?” He enters the room in a black sweater, dirty jeans. Turning to Willow, a creepy smile forms on his thin, sweaty lip. “Was that you, honey?”

“Hey!” I call as he approaches Willow, heavy boots thudding against the dark wood. “Stay away from her! Don’t you fucking—”

SLAP!

The back of his hand flies across her face, round cheeks erupting in red when her head whips to the right.

“You get off on slapping little girls, you sick fuck?” I yell, pushing off the floor like I’ll magically get out of these cuffs.

Those dark eyes whip right to me as he strokes at his thick, red beard, giving me a smirk almost as deadly as mine. When he lifts his fist, approaching me, I know what he’s about to do. My foot flies to his chest to push him back. He stumbles and I chuckle, loud enough for him to hear it.

“Pathetic,” I spit.

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