Page 10 of Property of Mercy
“Yeah, the question is fuckingwhatthough?There’re memories there but they’re just out of reach,” I murmur back, tuning everyone else out just as the chimes go off signaling a door has opened.
“Looks like the little lamb is up and moving,” Hermes chuckles, and the TV switches to our internal cameras.
We all watch as the dark-haired beauty stumbles down the hallway toward the great room.When she makes it to the end, I watch the camera angled directly on her face, watching as it pales when she takes in the room around her.She goes to take a step away from the wall but falls back against it.My chest goes tight as I watch her head leaning back with her eyes closed.Watching her take a deep breath before using the wall to make her way toward the hallway that leads to the offices, the basement, and even an exit.
Before I can think better of it, I’m on the move.My body is humming with the need to hunt.
6
AINSLEY
Icome awake with a start.My head is pounding, my body feels as if I’ve been hit by a damn bus, and I have cottonmouth so bad, I don’t think I’ll ever have saliva again.Slowly, I turn my head, trying to bring back any memory of where I am and what the fuck happened to me.Not finding any immediate danger, I take a moment to inspect myself.
I look down to find I’m covered in a gray itchy blanket and lift it with shaking hands.I breathe a sigh of relief when I see my clothes are untouched.The smell of an old penny finally penetrates the very slow lifting haze in my head.I roll my shoulders, noting how truly fucking sore I am.Reaching up, I find my hair is stuck to my head and caked in only what I can assume is blood and who knows what else.
Feeling across my head, I find a set of stitches that run from just above my eyebrow back across my temple, ending just behind my ear.Anxiety rushes through me as memories of what happened start to finally come back in full Technicolor—the Holly shit, the bar, an explosion, someone trying to shoot me—pain like I’ve never felt.The blackness until the voice of a man I prayed I’d never hear from again washes over me, providing a comfort that I do not deserve.
After that, there is nothing until I wake up here.I don’t recognize anything in this room.Meaning it’s time for me to get the fuck out of here.Pulling the blankets back, I turn and hang my legs off the side of the bed, noticing that I don’t have any shoes on.I slide off the bed and look around the room.There is very little in here.A door to my left, a large set of built-in bookshelves across the wall in front of me, and there are two doors to my right with a dresser and TV sitting between them.I take a tentative step, needing a bathroom desperately.My legs are shaky under me as I slowly shuffle across the worn, beat-up hardwood floors.Making it to the closest door, I sigh because I picked the right one.
I step into an outdated but clean bathroom.I shuffle across the tile floor, refusing to look at myself in the mirror and focus only on not peeing on myself.I make it to the toilet, struggling to get my jeans down my legs.They are caked in dirt, alcohol, and who knows what else.I do my business and when I stand the world spins so fast that I can barely stay standing.Gripping onto the sink I breathe deep, trying to shake the dizziness.I’m finally able to get the spinning down to an annoying trimmer and try to pull the nasty pants back up while my trembling legs groan and I fight vomiting from the pain in my entire body.
“Fuck, I have to get the hell out of here.The universe fucking work with me,” I say, trying not to sob in pain and desperation.
My knees give out, causing me to sink to the cold tile floor.Sighing, I roll onto my back to steady my breathing and shaking limbs.I lay there trying to get my body and brain to fucking work together and figure where I am and how to get the fuck out.
“Okay, bitch, let’s get your pants pulled up.”
“But the tile feels so good.Let’s just rest here for a minute,” I mumble to myself.
Groaning, I realize that I’m actually having a conversation with myself and need to get it the fuck together.Slowly, I reach down and wiggle my pants up my thighs and over my hips, swallowing down the scream from the pain in my ribs.Once my pants are up, I take in a shallow breath and roll onto my knees.
“Damn it all to hell, if the world would just stop fucking spinning, that would be stellar,” I mumble once again like a crazy person.
Reaching up as slowly as I can and trying not to pull at my ribs any more than I have to, I grab the edge of the sink and pull my ass up onto my feet.I finally catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and can’t stop the tears from falling, even if I wanted to.My hair is matted and nasty.The stitches that I felt are far worse than I could have imagined.I am one giant bruise with swelling here, there, and everywhere.I wipe at the tears as they make tracks on my face before turning and limping out of the bathroom.I slowly shuffle my way back across the room, resting when I finally make it to the bed.I can't help but to sit heavily on the edge and cup my head as it pounds.
Maybe put something like:
Once I feel like I have more strength and the pounding in my head has backed off, I know it’s time to move before whoever brought me here comes back.Gritting my teeth, I slide off the bed, hanging on as my legs try to give out.Slowly I shuffle my way across the room, using every surface I can to hold myself up.
“Come on, bitch, you’ve been through worse.Get your ass moving and get the hell out!”I snap to myself.
When I make it to the door, I expel every amount of oxygen in my lungs before I reach out, taking a hold of the brass doorknob and throwing up a small prayer that it’s unlocked.The knob turns and the door pulls open toward me.I ease my head out, looking up and down the long hallway taking in all the closed doors.Not seeing anyone, I ease out into the brightly lit hallway with black-and-white checkered floor tiles leading out into what appears to be an open space.
Pulling the door behind me closed, I slowly start making my way down the hallway, needing to pause every few steps as my world tries to go ass over teakettle.Reaching the hall's entrance, I discovered a spacious room.I don’t even try to stop the whimper that escapes my cracked lips when I find a large motorcycle club insignia on the wall.There are several pool tables in the middle of the room, and to my right there is a large TV with couches and chairs around it.Lined up along the wall under the insignia are tables and booths.A bar sits on the far side of the room with a large restaurant-style door next to it.
Another long hallway lies to my left.I lean my back against the wall, laying my head back against it, fighting the rising panic attack.I’m in a fucking club.Memories flash behind my eyes.First of the bikers the day I moved into my college apartment, then the man standing over me with a gun pointed at my head, and now here I am standing inside one of their places without knowing a damn thing about how I ended up here or fucking why.
“Okay, okay.So far, you haven’t seen anyone.There is an exit on the other side of the room.Yeah, but that leaves me wide open.You saw what looked to be an exit down the other hallway,” I murmur to myself, as I attempt to figure out what my best plan of action is.
I go to step away from the wall again, finding my legs entirely too weak.Looks like the hallway it is so I can continue using the wall for support.I reach the second hallway's entrance after silently moving down the wall, away from the large room.Slowly, I pass one closed door before coming across one that is cracked open just a little.As I go to pass it, my arm bumps it further open, and my attention falls on a wall of pictures.I slowly make my way across the fairly large office with paper spread around everywhere.
My eyes are focused on the pictures.There are so many of them, ranging from what looks to be really old to newer ones.Something about one of the men in the picture closest to me draws me in.I study the lines of the man as a memory starts to take shape.
“Most people who enter Pres’s office uninvited rarely leave it still breathing,” a voice that I’ve only ever heard on the phone and in my nightmares growls so close to my ear that his lips skim my ear.
I turn around so fast that my head spins and I can’t stop the rise of nausea.Hell, I’m so over puking on this man.Leaning over, I place my hands on my knees, losing all the contents of my stomach on his boots once more.
The sound of someone’s laughter caries through the room and the voice pulls at a faint memory as he says, “Fuck me, man, she really doesn’t like those boots if her puking on them every time she sees them means anything.”
