going?” A second blow to Billy’s chin nearly put him out. The sound of ripping tape broke through the fog. Don’t let him get that on you. Run!
Reid had Billy’s hands bound behind his back before he formulated his next thought. His expression a mix of rage and pleasure. He was enjoying this. Billy pulled hard against the tape, but it was immovable. Reid’s tattoos blurred together, a fury of jabs connecting with Billy’s torso and head. The severe pain turned to numbness even as Billy’s eye swelled and blood ran from his mouth and nose.
“Please stop,”Billy whispered. “All I wanted was to find my sister.”
A knock came at the door. “Reid are you in there?”
Reid paced, his clothes blood spattered and his knuckles split.
“Goddamn bullshit.” Reid kicked over an empty chair.
“Reid, hello. Open the door.”
Please open it.
“Come on, open up.” The pounding continued.
Reid growled. “What?” He stood in the open doorway.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Billy listened to the fast approaching footsteps and braced for another hit. A hand gently lifted his face.
“You don’t know anything about this, Zach. Leave it alone.”
“Did Nixon tell you to do this?” Zach grabbed a pair of scissors from off the counter and ripped them through the tape holding Billy’s hands.
Finally someone sensible.
Billy slumped forward, his shoulders, like the rest of him, stiff and aching. He coughed and tasted blood.
“Reid, he’s a goddamned kid. What the hell is the matter with you?”
Reid clenched his teeth. “He’s one of them. Look.” He opened a manila file folder and Billy saw his high school picture. “Billy Porter, Mark Wittman, Leonard Holtz, John Malkin, Frank Krieger.” He dealt the rest like cards.
Billy listened as Reid listed off everyone he knew who lost someone. Those that were willing to fight. Nixon collected information on all of them.
Zach flipped through the files. “What were you going to do, kill him? We hand him over to the cops. That’s how these things get handled.”
Reid sneered. “What do you know about how things get handled?”
The door opened and Miranda walked in.
* * * * *
Allison woke to Dr. Nixon rubbing her hand, aggravating the uncomfortable bruises from several blown IVs.
“Allison, can you hear me?”
She barely had the strength to open her eyes. On a scale of one to ten, her pain was a twenty. The increasingly frequent doses of morphine were the only thing allowing her to sleep. She swallowed and licked her dry lips.
“Allison, wake up.” Nixon raised her bed and held a cup with a straw for her to drink.
The plastic scraped against her dry lips. Open your eyes. Come on. It was like ordering someone else to move, someone she didn’t have control of. She opened her mouth and took a sip, the cool water reviving her.
“There you are.” Nixon turned off the overhead light when she couldn’t stop blinking.
“Thank you.” She tried to push herself up and the pain froze her. “Where’s Zach?” She needed to hold his hand, to feel his kiss, and for him to be there when Nixon gave the news that was sure to be bad. She regretted never telling him how much his presence comforted her.
Nixon smiled, the familiar reassuring expression she’d grown to trust even when the cancer ran rampant inside of her. “He’s handling a security issue downstairs. How are you feeling?”
She considered her answer and not wanting to be long-winded, she simplified. “Like someone that’s dying.”
Nixon’s smile faded and she braced for the worst. He pulled an unlabeled vial and a syringe from his lab coat pocket and set them on the table next to the bed. “Your most recent test results are in.” He took her chart from the bin on the wall and flipped to a page near the end.
She took a deep breath. “What’s the timeframe?” It was a question she didn’t want the answer to, not really, but there were important things to tell Zach
Reid had Billy’s hands bound behind his back before he formulated his next thought. His expression a mix of rage and pleasure. He was enjoying this. Billy pulled hard against the tape, but it was immovable. Reid’s tattoos blurred together, a fury of jabs connecting with Billy’s torso and head. The severe pain turned to numbness even as Billy’s eye swelled and blood ran from his mouth and nose.
“Please stop,”Billy whispered. “All I wanted was to find my sister.”
A knock came at the door. “Reid are you in there?”
Reid paced, his clothes blood spattered and his knuckles split.
“Goddamn bullshit.” Reid kicked over an empty chair.
“Reid, hello. Open the door.”
Please open it.
“Come on, open up.” The pounding continued.
Reid growled. “What?” He stood in the open doorway.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Billy listened to the fast approaching footsteps and braced for another hit. A hand gently lifted his face.
“You don’t know anything about this, Zach. Leave it alone.”
“Did Nixon tell you to do this?” Zach grabbed a pair of scissors from off the counter and ripped them through the tape holding Billy’s hands.
Finally someone sensible.
Billy slumped forward, his shoulders, like the rest of him, stiff and aching. He coughed and tasted blood.
“Reid, he’s a goddamned kid. What the hell is the matter with you?”
Reid clenched his teeth. “He’s one of them. Look.” He opened a manila file folder and Billy saw his high school picture. “Billy Porter, Mark Wittman, Leonard Holtz, John Malkin, Frank Krieger.” He dealt the rest like cards.
Billy listened as Reid listed off everyone he knew who lost someone. Those that were willing to fight. Nixon collected information on all of them.
Zach flipped through the files. “What were you going to do, kill him? We hand him over to the cops. That’s how these things get handled.”
Reid sneered. “What do you know about how things get handled?”
The door opened and Miranda walked in.
* * * * *
Allison woke to Dr. Nixon rubbing her hand, aggravating the uncomfortable bruises from several blown IVs.
“Allison, can you hear me?”
She barely had the strength to open her eyes. On a scale of one to ten, her pain was a twenty. The increasingly frequent doses of morphine were the only thing allowing her to sleep. She swallowed and licked her dry lips.
“Allison, wake up.” Nixon raised her bed and held a cup with a straw for her to drink.
The plastic scraped against her dry lips. Open your eyes. Come on. It was like ordering someone else to move, someone she didn’t have control of. She opened her mouth and took a sip, the cool water reviving her.
“There you are.” Nixon turned off the overhead light when she couldn’t stop blinking.
“Thank you.” She tried to push herself up and the pain froze her. “Where’s Zach?” She needed to hold his hand, to feel his kiss, and for him to be there when Nixon gave the news that was sure to be bad. She regretted never telling him how much his presence comforted her.
Nixon smiled, the familiar reassuring expression she’d grown to trust even when the cancer ran rampant inside of her. “He’s handling a security issue downstairs. How are you feeling?”
She considered her answer and not wanting to be long-winded, she simplified. “Like someone that’s dying.”
Nixon’s smile faded and she braced for the worst. He pulled an unlabeled vial and a syringe from his lab coat pocket and set them on the table next to the bed. “Your most recent test results are in.” He took her chart from the bin on the wall and flipped to a page near the end.
She took a deep breath. “What’s the timeframe?” It was a question she didn’t want the answer to, not really, but there were important things to tell Zach
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