Page 55 of Bear Strength

I try to keep up as he swerves and makes sudden turns. I know he’s not purposefully making it look more complicated. He’s following Wagner’s smell. I’ve tried it so many times. It’s like I can catch a whiff, and I recognize who it belongs to, but I lose it as quickly as I found it. And, it’s gone. Just like that. Adrian seems to be able to keep it. He doesn’t lose it. He owns it.

It’s the animal in him. The animal in all of us. But, despite the fact that we change into the same animal, we all seem to have different senses heightened. Adrian’s sense of smell is unparalleled. Wagner has the strength of ten men. That’s why I’m surprised that he went down. I’m guessing whoever attacked him, was a fucking coward. He attacked him by surprise, or from behind. Wagner couldn’t react properly. He was too focused on Danica. As we all are. We all care about her so deeply, we’d rather die than let anything happen to either her or Dominick. They’ve become family. And, you keep family safe. No matter what.

Adrian turns into a small alley. This town’s full of those. But, we’re not scared. If anything, whoever’s there, should be scared of us. After a quick glance, we see it’s empty. The street is calm. Free from strife. But, the night isn’t. It’s a night of battle. My nose isn’t as good as Adrian’s, but even I can smell that.

He points to a car at the end, hidden from plain sight by a huge trash container. We both rush over there. It’s an old Mustang, still in good condition. Under the light of the streetlamps, I can’t tell if it’s blood red or wine red. Not that it matters. Adrian puts his palm on the trunk, then tries to jiggle it open. Immediately after, someone bangs loudly from the inside.

“Get me the fuck outta here!!!”

We hear muffled sounds, but we both recognize who the voice belongs to.

“Move back!” I shout.

Adrian moves as well. I lift my leg and kick the lock of the trunk as hard as I can with the wooden sole of my boot. That always comes in handy. Wagner kicks it from the inside. Once. Twice. That does the job, and the trunk pops open like a firecracker.

We help him out. He looks like shit. His nose is busted, and his lip’s bleeding. I see a cut to the side of his temple. That must be where the guy hit him and knocked him out. I couldn’t see Wagner going down any other way.

“Fucking asshole caught me by surprise,” Wagner grunts, trying to find his balance. He looks like he’s having some trouble with it. “Where’s Danica? Is she with you?”

Neither me nor Adrian reply. The answer is written on our faces. We failed. We failed her miserably. We promised we would keep her safe and we couldn’t do it.

“We need to find her,” he says what we’re all thinking.

“He went in the house to get her,” Adrian reveals, but I’m sure Wagner already figured that out. “He took her with him.”

“Can you find her?” Wagner growls.

“I can try,” Adrian replies.

“You can’t just try, Ade,” I mumble. “We have to find her. We just have to.”

CHAPTER 25

When we reach our destination, I realize it’s some crappy, run down house in the middle of nowhere. It’s on the outskirts of the town. I wonder how the heck he found it. He must have planned this for a while.

“Get in!” he shoves me inside.

The house looks even more dilapidated on the inside. A few rats scurry in the corner, disappearing into a hole in the wall. The floor is filled with beer cans, old, yellow-stained newspapers, and there’s even a disgusting old mattress in the corner. Just the sight of it makes me sick. A few junkies died on it probably. Who knows what kind of diseases it has?

“Sit over there,” he instructs me, pointing at a wooden chair in the center of the room.

I look around. The windows are all there, expect for one. No glass on that one. A few even have blinds on, which I doubt could be pulled up. This whole place reeks of death and despair. Right now, I’m just praying that I don’t die in a place like this. Anywhere but here.

I do as I’m told. I sit on the chair, not taking my eyes off the gun he has pointed at me. It’s almost laughable. As if he ever needed a gun to hurt me, to make me do whatever he wanted. Another thought occurs to me. Maybe he knows he needs more now. I’m not the weak, fragile little thing I was before. He can’t take me down with just a clenched fist. Sure, he can hurt me, but he can never break my spirit. Not ever again.

I watch him as he moves around me, tying me up. The ropes dig into my flesh, but I don’t say anything. The chair underneath me is slightly wobbly. Maybe luck would serve meand it’ll be flimsy, too. I might try it, if I see an opportunity to escape. But, if I don’t make it, I’m done for. I know that. He didn’t bring me here to discuss parental rights and joint custody. He came here to finish what he started. Just like he promised.

As soon as he’s sure that I’m securely tied up, he places his gun onto a small cardboard box, which I’m guessing served as a coffee table, nightstand, whatever. He buries his face into his hands, and only now, in clear light do I see him well.

He hasn’t changed. Well, not much. He’s still got that rugged, bad boy look that used to get all the women hot and wet. He loved pointing that out. That, if I didn’t take good care of myself, he’d easily find someone who would. He deserved a good woman. A sexy woman. A lady in the streets. A whore in the sheets. He used to say that a lot.

His beard’s grown a little. It also looks like he’s lost some weight. Still, he looks good. Fucking good for a sadist.

“So, are you gonna tell me now what you want from me?” I take the chance to start the conversation.

Fear has nestled deep inside my heart, my mind, my veins. It is filling up my entire body, but I’m still not allowing it to fully take over. A small part of myself is still reasonable, still logical. I need to buy some time. Maybe the guys will find me. It’s a long shot, but I’m still holding onto hope. Fear won’t break me. This asshole might, but it won’t be the fear I’ve created of him.

He lifts his gaze from his palms, and looks at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. I’ve never spoken this way to him. It was always yes, dear. Just different versions of agreement. Because, a good woman always agrees with her man. Even when he’s wrong. And, she takes damn good care she doesn’t point that out when it happens.

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