Page 151 of Saved By My Buyers

“They found the other bodyguard in the storage room, and Jack is screaming for blood. I also vaguely heard that Greg is headed in. We don’t have much time, and I want my fucking?—”

Adamson calmly lifts his gun and shoots Thomas between the eyes. I don’t make a sound as he drops to the ground, and neither does Dahlia. We trusted him to protect us. This end is too fucking good for him in my opinion.

“Come on, come on,” Adamson says, waving his gun in a circular motion. God, he’s going to accidentally shoot someone at this point.

“You’re so damn bossy,” Gareth complains, moving around to untie my wrists. My legs thump to the ground, and I bite back any sound of pain. The only sign of it is in my faster breathing, the tears building in my eyes. If I cry, I risk drowning in my own snot from the fucking gag.

Bringing my hands around, I try to rub them awkwardly as the blood rushes back.

“Too fucking slow,” Gareth snarls, yanking me upright by my hair.

“Easy!” Dahlia yells. “She’s your daughter. Don’t be such a ow?—!”

Arina smirks after she kicks Dahlia, stepping back. “You’re so fucking stupid,” she mutters. “You’re supposed to be smart. Why did you have to follow me?”

I have a feeling I know how Dahlia ended up here, but I’d have done the same, knowing how shady her family is.

I glare at my father, which only makes him laugh. I point to the gag, because I really am having trouble breathing. There’s bile stuck at the back of my throat, and it burns like nothing else.

It’s all I can smell. If I can’t spit to clear it soon, I’m going to puke again. While it may not kill me, inhaling bile isn’t something I want to do again.

Rolling his eyes, Gareth pulls off the gag, jumping away dramatically when I cough, spit, and hack.

“You’re an idiot,” I gasp. “I’m not signing shit, just for the pure joy of knowing the Boxley’s are going to torture and kill you. You’re a sick child rapist!”

“What?” Adamson asks, standing straighter from where he was enjoying the conversation.

“You should really take better care of who you’re getting in bed with,” I mutter.

I can hear my name, my real one being screamed outside, and I glance at Dahlia.

“Jack,” we scream together. “Help!”

“Bronwyn? Where are you?” another male yells, and I shake my head, not knowing who it is.

“Well, I guess we’re taking a trip through the snow, dear daughter,” Gareth mutters, pulling me forward by my hair toward the door. Screaming, I claw at him, because that’s the last thing I want to do. “We’ll get you to give me that money one way or another.”

“It’s been real, Adamson?—”

“You fucking bastard,” he snarls, grabbing my leg to yank me back. The pain in my scalp intensifies, and I can’t keep back the tears or my scream.

“Let go!” I scream, kicking my leg at Adamson. The wanna be gangster puts his gun in his pants holster, snarling as he grabs my other leg and yanks. My hair is tearing from my scalp, and Gareth has huge handfuls of it.

“You’ll learn your place girl,” he yells. “What the hell happened to you?”

I can’t respond, I’m in too much pain as Arina screams.

“Daddy, watch out! Oh fuck, she’s insane,” Arina says.

From where I’m being yanked between two grown men like a fucked up version of tug of war, I watch Dahlia leap up onto Adamson’s back. She was never bound or gagged, and they forgot how feral she can be after living for years on the street.

A flash of her Christmas gift alerts me to the knife, and then she’s digging it deep into Adamson’s throat. Her thighs are clamped on his hips like a fucked up version of riding a bull, her fingers not on the knife clenched on his hair to keep him still.

His hands immediately drop me as he gurgles, blood flowing, and she stabs him again above his collar bone, yanking it to the side, so his neck sprays blood. I can’t get away from Gareth as he yanks me to standing, even though my legs are still tied.

It’s awkward, but I’m no longer wearing my heels, which helps. Adamson’s knees buckle as he attempts to grab Dahlia, to throw her off, but she won’t let him, dodging his efforts as much as possible.

“Fuck, Gareth do something!” Arina complains, her hands tugging on her hair.

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