Page 150 of Bad for Me

I growl and pin my dad to the car once more, ripping into his pockets and pulling out the keys. “I’m not waiting. You can follow me when the men get here, but I’m going now.” I move towards the car.

“At least let some of the men here go with you!” he shouts. “I’ll make sure the situation here is under control with the police and then follow you. I will have the men I called meet you there. Please be careful.”

I jump into the car and hear doors open, but I don’t bother looking to see who is joining me. Turning on the car, I tear out of the lot, tires squealing. The streets are crowded with traffic and people trying to get a look at what’s going on at the park, so I cut down side streets and follow the GPS signal of the SUV following the van holding Ashby.

“It looks like they are heading towards the docks,” Elio says from the passenger seat, and I glance over at him for the first time. “There are a few abandoned warehouses there and access to boats. If they manage to get him on a boat and out to sea before we get there, we could lose him.”

“We won’t!” I snarl and step on the gas. “He doesn’t want to take Ashby away. He wants to use him to get to us, and I know my Sunshine. He won't break easily, so the longer it takes us to get to him, the more time Jarred has to hurt him.”

“They have about an hour lead on us,” Elio says, and I squeeze the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white and ache.

“They stopped,” he calls out ten minutes later. “They aren’t at the boat docks but at one of the old fishing warehouses.”

I release a heavy, relieved sigh. “Good,” I say.

Finally, we break free of the city and reach the long stretch of road between here and the docks. The roads are clear, and I slam on the gas, forcing the car to go as fast as possible. The trees zip past in a blur, and I ignore the cries of the men in the back, begging me to slow down and drive carefully. We make good time, and the docks come into view, seagulls dotting the sky. I slow as we get closer, unable to maintain the breakneck speed in the crowded space. I pull up next to the follow car.

“Which one is he in?” I demand.

“They went through there,” the driver says, pointing to a building that looks like it's seconds from collapsing. The metal walls are covered in rust, and the windows are foggy from saltwater buildup. There is a sign hanging crooked; ‘& Co. Fishng & Crb’ are the only letters still visible.

“According to the internet, sailors would bring their fish and crab hauls here to sell. They processed the fish, packaged it, and shipped it to different restaurants across the country. It’s been shut down for about a year after it was found that the owners were using it to smuggle drugs. I bet you can guess who they were moving drugs for?”

“Fucking Hawthorne,” I snarl and rev the engine.

“We should get out and look around, find the best entry point and call your father to let him know the plan,” one of the men in the back says, and I scoff. “We can keep an eye out to make sure they don’t move while we wait for backup.”

“No,” I snap, my lips pulling into an excited smile. “We aren’t waiting for anyone. My Sunshine is in there.”

I press the gas, screams sounding from the back seat, but I ignore them, laughing wildly. I roll down the window and let my head hang out. “Woohoo! I’m coming, Sunshine!” I holler, slipping back in just as the SUV slams into the side wall, the metal crumbling around us. I jump from the car, a gun in each hand and smile at the group of stunned men staring back at me.

“Who’s first?” I ask and start shooting.

8

ASHBY

My entire body hurts.My skin feels too tight, my bones brittle, and my muscles like I’ve overstretched every single one. My brain feels like it’s pounding against my skull, trying to escape. There is a steady ringing in my ears, muffling all sound, and my vision is like looking through a fog. I try to pull on the wire holding my wrists together, but fire burns through my arm with even the slightest movement. I can move my ankles easier, but without the use of my hands, there is no way to loosen the stranglehold wrapped around me.

I’m not sure how long we drive before the car finally comes to a stop, but the loss of motion is both a blessing and a curse. I’m happy to have a moment of peace, but I know if we are stopped, that means more pain will be coming soon. Tears burn tracks down my soot-covered cheeks, both from pain and fear. I hear the sound of doors opening and closing and voices shouting, and then my vision flares as bright light blinds me.

I can’t contain my scream as agony rips apart my body, and I am dragged from the back of the car. Bile churns in my stomach, and I don’t resist the urge to puke all over the person carrying me.

“What the fuck!” the man shouts, and black spots dance in front of my eyes when I’m dropped to the cement. The pain becomes too much, and everything goes dark.

“Ash,” a quiet voice calls as gentle, icy hands ghost over my skin. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” they chant, panic and terror making their voice tremble. “I’m not gonna lie and say I’m not grateful you came for me, but why are you here alone?” Sobs wrack the person speaking, and I feel a wet cloth move over my skin. “God, if I had a shirt, I would be able to wrap this arm for you. For now, this will just have to be good enough. It's not very clean, and I'm sure you don’t want to be naked, but I think wrapping your arm is more important.” I feel my shirt tearing, and a cold breeze brushes my bare skin. “I know it’s cold. Fuck, I’m sorry, but this is going to suck.” I grunt and nearly choke when a wad of fabric is shoved into my mouth. “Don’t want you biting off your tongue.”

That’s the only warning I get before my arm is moved and intense pressure flairs. I scream, the sound muffled, and my back arches off the ground. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Almost done.”

The pressure lets up just slightly, and then I feel something soft being wrapped tightly around my skin. My arm is moved again, and I feel more cloth surrounding it and around my neck. It cradles the injured limb against my chest tightly.

“This isn’t a true fix. The fabric is dirty and thin, so it won’t give the support you need, but it will have to do for now.” Fingers brush through my hair as my head settles onto the person's lap. “I really hope your stepdad finds us soon,” he says absently. “I don’t think I can take it if those men visit me again.” His entire body shudders, and I feel wet warmth drip on my face.

“A… Atlas?” I rasp after a few minutes of silence, my mind clearing just enough to focus on the pretty face hovering over mine. His skin is marred with bruises, cuts and dried blood. “Atlas, thank god.” I gasp, tears flowing freely as I try to reach for him.

“No! Try not to move!” he whisper-shouts, moving my head off his lap and kneeling beside me. He reaches for my free hand and threads our fingers together, his hazel eyes clouded.

I turn my head enough to take him in, and fury joins the pain. He’s completely naked, and every inch of his body is covered in dirt, bruising and blood. Handprint-shaped bruising marks his hips, thighs, arms and neck. Cuts and what look like burns also dot his skin. Metal shackles encircle his ankles, the skin raw and bleeding. The chain connecting them is anchored to the middle of the floor, just long enough for him to move around but not enough to reach the door. His wrists are equally raw, and I notice a pair of matching shackles hanging from the wall across the room.

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