Page 100 of Captive Souls

Joey was adept at picking locks—granted, the motel lock could’ve been picked by a toddler—and I let him, although the fire in me itched to kick the door down.

I didn’t make unnecessary scenes like that. Didn’t let emotion leech through in situations such as this. That was sloppy. That was how mistakes were made.

The door inched open, and my heartbeat slowed. My mind cleared then I entered, ready, desperate to find my woman, unharmed.

But the room was empty.

Well, not entirely.

The bed was mussed. The piece of shit headboard was scratched with marks made by what I assumed were handcuffs.

And the room smelled of her. And of blood. Peaches and old pennies.

A sickening combination.

My throat shrunk to half its size as I tightened my grip on my piece.

Joey didn’t speak, just nodded his head to the closed bathroom door I’d already spotted but had been unable to make my way toward. Frozen. I’d never been frozen with fear in my life. Not even while facing the man who put me on this path to begin with. Who abused my brother and I, had ruined countless other childhoods with his perversion.

Not then, not ever.

Until that moment.

Until I smelled Piper and blood and stared at that closed bathroom door. It was Schrödinger's Cat—a thought experiment that illustrated how a being could be in two states at once, both alive and dead. Fate was linked to a random event that may or may not occur.

Behind that door could be Piper’s brutalized, bloody corpse. Or she could be alive, waiting for me. With fire still burning in her eyes.

If I didn’t open the door, I could continue entertaining the thought that Piper was alive.

If I did open the door, she might’ve been lying dead on the cheap, cracked tile.

Standing there, I observed my greatest nightmare and singular salvation simultaneously.

I knew Joey’s eyes were on me. He was waiting for me to take the lead, and my pause was a sign of weakness. One I couldn’t afford right then.

It was the hardest thing I’d ever done, taking a step toward that door then turning the knob to potentially reveal Piper’s lifeless body.

The coppery smell of blood intensified as I turned the knob and switched on the light to the small room.

My own blood roared through my body as I took in her form, huddled on the floor, motionless, bloodied, beaten.

I paused for a second, just a second to envision the ways in which I would torture those who dared touch what was mine.

All I took was a second, though. Because I saw the gentle, slow rise and fall of her chest, and my heart continued to beat, my world continued to spin, and I had a reason to exist beyond vengeance.

My feet took me to her, and I gathered my world in my arms as tenderly as a savage like me was capable of.

But I was glad. In that moment I was glad for every bit of brutality I’d gained in my life, the skills I’d amassed which would ensure I’d avenge her to the highest possible degree.

Piper

“Petal.”

The voice was gentle.

Impossibly so.

I must’ve been dead, then. Because though I recognized that voice, there was no way the owner of it would be gentle. It wasn’t in his nature.

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