Soulless (Lawless #2)(37)

I checked to make sure my prisoner was still tied tightly to the table and still unconscious, which he was.

Before I had a chance to think too much about it I was standing outside the closed door of the room I feared the most. The room where my father took his last breath.

My parents’ bedroom.

I turned the knob and pushed open the door which creaked as it slowly revealed the room to me.

My father’s blood stained the wood floors, which were buckling at the seams under the dried pool of red. Reluctantly, I took a step inside the room.

Maybe this isn’t so bad after all. It’s just blood.

I ran my fingers over the ornate gold-framed mirror that hung above my parents dresser. One of my mother’s favorite flea-market finds. I picked up a bottle of my father’s cologne and sprayed it into the air. Inhaling deeply, I smiled, remembering better times. I combed out my hair with my mothers brush and I stared at my reflection in the mirror until I was sure that my reflection had started talking back to me. “Get out of here,” I saw myself say. “It’s not safe.” And then finally. “Look behind you.”

I wasn’t fast enough. Just as I turned around, large hands clasped around my throat, turning me back facing the mirror. He squeezed, crushing my neck, closing my airway. I struggled and kicked and bucked, but it was no use. I watched in the mirror in horror as the whites of Mr. Carson’s eyes bulged out of his head as I struggled for air. I tried prying his fingers apart with my own but he didn’t move. “Night, night, you f*cking cunt,” he whispered in my ear. With my vision rimmed in static like snow that grew larger and larger, I felt my body go limp. I fell sideways onto the floor and although he’d released me, my airway wouldn’t open. I couldn’t draw breath into my lungs.

The last thing I saw was a laughing Mr. Carson, standing over me, as he faded further and further away until he was gone and the only thing I was left looking at was the broken blade on the ceiling fan. Some sort of commotion was taking place out of the corner of my eye.

Someone screamed.

But it was too late.

It all went away.

Everything.

I was dead.





CHAPTER TWENTY




Thia


Lights. Sounds.

Barking?

I woke up with a start like I’d been launched into consciousness from one world to the next. I sat up so quickly it was like an involuntary knee-jerk reaction to be able to pass air into my lungs again. Opening and closing my mouth I gulped for more air, which came much slower than I wanted.

But at least it came. My breaths were short and staccato.

I’d gone from the land of nothingness into a flurry of commotion. The room spun around me as each of my senses was shocked back to life like they’d just been struck by lightning.

My brief death had taken a toll on me. My neck was sore. My head throbbed. I reached for my throat. I swallowed and it felt as if I’d gargled with sand or broken glass, or a cocktail of both.

There was a crash.

Surprised by the sudden noise I stupidly craned my damaged neck around the side of the bed to see where the noise had come from, and was immediately rewarded with a severe stabbing sensation in and around my throat.

I pushed through the pain, dragging myself on the floor instead of causing further injury to my neck. When I’d moved far enough to see around the bed, my eyes landed on the scene playing out in front of me.

*

The spinning room began to slow until it thankfully came to a stop. When I was finally able to take a deep breath I coughed on the exhale, drawing the attention of Mr. Carson, who was on his knees beside the bed. His white shirt torn around his right arm, revealing an open and bloodied gash across his bicep. He pursed his lips and although he was the one on his knees he looked smug, like he’d somehow still won.

The Bear from that morning was not the same Bear who was now in that room, standing behind Mr. Carson with a gun to the back of his head.

Bear looked possessed. A vein throbbed in his temple. His chest heaving up and down. Even the veins running down his defined abdomen, disappearing into his low-slung jeans, looked as though they were pulsing with anger.

“Ti,” Bear said, calling me even further back to the land of the living. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice hoarse and scratchy. It hurt to speak, but it was nowhere near the pain I’d felt just minutes before. I grabbed onto the bedpost, hoisting myself into a standing position. “Do you know who he is?” I asked, looking at the man on his knees.

Bear nodded, pushing the barrel of his gun against the back of the man’s head. “His name is Tretch. He’s a nomad Chop uses on occasion to carry out his dirty work. He’s less known than the crew at Logan’s Beach and when he’s not wearing a cut he looks like a f*cking * so he’s believable as a civilian.”

“He’s Mr. Carson to me. The guy I shot. The Sunnlandio guy.” Bear laughed wickedly and smacked the butt of his gun against the back of Tretch’s head, who winced and swayed, but didn’t fall.

“This motherf*cker is going to wish you killed him,” Bear seethed.

“Bear,” I started, leaning on the bed for support.

“No, Ti. Don’t try and talk me out of it,” Bear said, fire dancing in his eyes. He paced the floor, two steps one way and then two steps the other. His eyes didn’t meet mine. “This f*cker laid his hands on you, Ti. His life ends now. The last f*cker got away with a broken arm.” Bear leaned down next to Tretch and spoke directly into his ear. “Unfortunately for you, I’m all out of broken arms today.”