Page 6 of Pawn

Snapping her fingers at Baldy, he approaches me.

“We need to be quicker,” she demands. “I have a date.”

“A date?” She really is psychotic. My back pressed against the thick wooden leg, I warn Baldy as he approaches me. “Get the fuck back!” It’s impossible to move away as he comes closer. I’m like seafood caught before dinner. Crabby and trapped. “Touch me and die!”

“Not today kid,” he says, reaching for the cuffs around my wrists. They feel weightless when he unlocks them and the minute he does, I lunge for his gun.

“Damien!” Willow screams, and it’s the last thing I hear before everything goes black.

When it does, she’s all I see on my lids.

Joelle.

That head of dark, curly hair. The side-shave that no other girl can pull off as sexy as she does. Those heart-shaped lips, that golden gaze. Hanging onto the images of her, the images of our bodies tangled together is all I want to do.

“Medusa.” My mutter surprises me when I hear my rocky voice, the feeling of my body hitting hard against wood. The pain comes and goes like my consciousness.

Trying to open my eyes is no use, when I do, everything is a dark, blurry haze, flashes of light doing nothing for my clarity. My arms feel like they’ll pull from my socket. Like someone is dragging me along the floor.

“This kid’s delusional.” That’s Baldy speaking, but where the fuck is he taking me?

“Wait!” Marion snips. “It will not look like it should if we are not careful. Stop hitting his head!”

“N-no,” I mutter but I’m already fading again like I’ve taken a baggie of pills to the dome. Jo returns to my head. The shape of her perfect, slender body. That long neck I want to sink my teeth into, that ass I want in my hands forever.

Those skinny wrists I want to bind together so I can make her mine again and again.

A chill takes over before there’s a smack on my face. “Damien.”

Everything hurts. The pain in my head shoots down my neck to my abs and everything between. My arms burn, ribs aching.

“Damien!” Marion yells with another stinging slap to my cheek.

When my eyes flicker open, it takes a second for the fuzziness to dissipate before Marion’s in clear view.

Bitch.

I lunge for her but I fall flat on my face, jaw against red stone when she takes a step back. Cuffs are back around my wrists but I’m no longer in the basement. Aiming my eyes up, I’m outside. The roof. “What the fuck are we doing?” I demand, face against the cold stone floor.

The rooftop tilts when Baldy lifts me off the floor, cold air blowing through the fabric of my slacks and the buttons on my shirt. It’s the dead of winter, the night wind coming with a bite that doesn’t usually get to me. But I’m not in control of this situation and that makes the chills in my bones rise to the surface.

Bottles of beer and my favourite scotch sit at the bottom of the rooftop balcony railing. So does an array of pill bottles, a baggie with a bit of blow, and a picture of him. My father.

“The fuck is this? A party?”

“Your funeral.” Marion looks over the rooftop railing, leaning against it with her elbows. “Your last day on earth, mon Dieu. My last day in the shadows.” She looks over at me, a stillness in her body, death in her eyes. “Now. Get up.”

“Fuck you!” I spit.

She snaps her fingers and Baldy does the job for her but I don’t make it easy. Pulling back against his hold and kicking at his chest.

“Don’t hit him!” she orders. “We do not need evidence of us. His suicide needs to be certain.”

My what?! This bitch is insane. “Get the fuck off me!” Swinging my shoulders from side to side, I’m fighting harder against his hold.

“Get on the rail,” Baldy demands.

“Eat a dic—”

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