I would have moved heaven an earth to get Lee's attention.
But my mouth was covered and then I heard the handcuffs slide open. An arm was wrestled up and the bracelet went around my wrist, then the same was done with the other wrist.
“V has been missing you,” he informed me, lifting off my body and hauling me up by the chain between the cuffs. “Says I can have all kinds of fun with you if I brought you back,” he informed me, pulling me across the room and toward the door.
Not quietly I might add.
He wasn't whispering or murmuring.
He was talking just as loud as he pleased.
And I was getting familiar enough with the seedy underworld of society to know that that wasn't a good sign.
Then, to prove my point, we went into the hall.
And there was Lee.
Slumped up against the wall on the floor, his body in weird contortions. Blood spattered all behind him from the bullet hole he had in his forehead.
I felt the bile rise up in my throat and was forced to swallow it back down.
I'd never seen anything like that.
A man dead like that. Horrifically. Brutally.
And, not entirely understanding why considering he was one of my captors, I felt unbelievably sad. He was dead because of me. I was dragged down the stairs and out the front door and before I was shuffled into the trunk (yes Martin, unlike Wolf, had a trunk), I saw the devastation all around. My father's entire mini-military was dead. Shot dead. Blood everywhere.
I gulped back more sick as the trunk slammed closed.
Bodies were piling up because of me.
And maybe they weren't all great men, but they were people. People who had their lives ripped away because V wanted me back.
So maybe he should have me back.
Maybe me dealing with my torment was worth keeping others alive.
My father.
The Henchmen.
Reign.
Oh, god, Reign.
When I wasn't busy hating my father or trying to find a way to escape (there were none), I was thinking about Reign.
Seven days. I hadn't seen him in seven days.
And I missed him, like he told me I would.
Like I had never missed someone else before.
I missed him like a limb suddenly ripped away.
Like something vital.
He had to know that I was gone by then.
And he would think it was V all along.
And he would come for me.
Fuck.
I wished I had a way to contact him. To tell him to let it go. Tell him it wasn't V. Lie my ass off. Tell him I took off. I needed to get away, start a new life. Tell him to move the fuck on.
Because I might have been able to live with a whole militia dying because of me, but I couldn't live with Reign dying for me. Or Cash or Wolf or any of the other men for that matter.
I thought about the gun in my boot.
And then I thought something awful.
Something I never thought I would think.
Something that, on a normal day, seemed weak and cowardly.
But in my situation, it seemed noble and brave.
It seemed like a very viable option.
I could take myself out of the equation.
Permanently.
I could save myself the beatings, the starvation, the brutality.
I could save my father from getting involved with V.
And, more important than all, I could save Reign.
I drew in a shaky breath, feeling my body roll around as the car drove away.
The cuffs would come off eventually. The cuffs would come off and the ropes would go on. And the ropes would be untied for me to use the bathroom. Or right before my beatings in the basement.
Hell, maybe I could take V out with me. Or, at the very least, Martin.
Even as I thought that, I knew I couldn't. Yes, I had the gun. Yes, I knew how to use it. But I wouldn't be able to. Not to take someone else's life. Not even people as sick and twisted and undeserving of breath as V and Martin. I couldn't do that.
But I could turn the barrel on myself.
I could do that.
Resolved, I kicked out my legs, pressing them against the back seats of the car to hold my body still.
I should have been freaking out. Breaking into a cold sweat. Feeling sick to my stomach. I should have been running over all the things I would never get a chance to do. Get married. Make babies. Grow old. Have a good, safe, sweet little life. I should have been devastated that I was going to take that away.
But I wasn't.
I felt resigned.
I felt like I had a mission.
To save people from trying to save me.
And dying in the process.
I wouldn't have been able to live with that anyway.
For the first time in almost four months, I was going to be in control of something.
That was something to cling to.
To comfort myself with.
The car stopped. I heard Martin's door open and close. I felt the trunk pop. Then he was looking down at me, a smirk toying with his lips. “Welcome back,” he said, reaching in and hauling me out. He set me on my feet and I turned to see other cars pulling in. V's men got out in varying degrees of dishevel. And it hit me that V had sent his own mini army to get me back.
I swallowed hard, looking away from them.
“I think we can remove the duct tape now, don't you?” a voice hit me and I turned to see V walking out of the house, wearing a pristine blue suit with a white shirt and striped blue tie. He looked like he was walking out to meet an old friend, giving me a smile.
A fucking smile.
The sick fuck.
Martin reached up and ripped the tape off my lips, the skin smiting as he did.
“Summer, Summer, Summer,” V said, coming up toward me, his head tilted to the side slightly as he looked me up and down. “You look well. All plumped up again.”
Okay. I knew I was in a kidnapping situation. And I knew that these people had hurt me in countless ways over months. And I knew that I was pretty set on taking my own life at the first opportunity, but somehow... being referred to as 'plumped up' was offensive. It was stupid and girly and insecure, but it stung.