Make You Beg

He stumbles back, shakes his head, and narrows his eyes on me. “Henley …”

I hit him again. Before he can recover, I shove him backward, pressing his front into the back wall. I lean down and whisper-shout over the music. “I have my doll back, Scout. Now I’m going to finish it.” Grabbing his hair, I yank his head back before knocking it face-first into the concrete. He’s been beating on me, but he didn’t want to knock me out. That wouldn’t be fun for him. I, however, have no reason to drag this shit along.

He falls to his knees, blood coating the wall from the broken nose I just gave him. I grip his hair and pull him into the center of the room, the adrenaline rush kicking in now that they found Henley. I kick him under his chin, snapping his head back. He falls to the floor, blood splattering everywhere.

He rolls over onto his stomach, and I drop to my knees, straddling his back. Gripping his hair, I shove his face into the concrete floor one, two, three times. I yank his bloody face back for the crowd to get a good view for their video, and say, “You’ll never play with my toy again.”

Then I stand up off him and walk away. The crowd is at an all-time high. I manage to make it to Derek, but my legs give out. He catches me, wraps my arm around his shoulders, and the crowd parts for him to help my fucked-up ass outside.

I fall into the passenger seat of my car, and he gets in the driver’s seat. “Call him.” I groan, my shaking hands running down my bloody face. I wipe the blood on my already dirty and bloody jeans.

He presses some buttons on my cell, and then Dax’s phone rings through my speakers. I close my eyes, feeling the A/C on my sweaty, blood-covered body.

“Hello?” he answers.

“Let me speak to her,” I demand, fisting my hands and feeling the split skin on my knuckles.

He sighs heavily. “We’ve got her, but …”

I sit up, my body screaming at the simple motion. Everything feels fucking broken. “What?”

“She’s unconscious, Law. We’ve already spoken to James, and he’s got medical staff at your mom’s ready for her. We’re pulling in now.”

I swallow, my heart hammering in my chest at the thought of what they did to her. “How bad?” I ask, looking out the window as Derek speeds down the two-lane road—leaving Death Valley behind us.

“Well, other than the video, Steve was waterboarding her when we found her.”

I punch my fucking dash, surprised the airbag doesn’t blow in my face. “Motherfucker!” I shout, making Derek flinch.

“She’s alive,” he says quickly. “And her pulse is strong.” He pauses for a second. “I gotta go. See you soon.”

I hang up and look at Derek. “Fucking drive faster!”

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

VAN RELLIK

I’M STANDING IN the grand foyer of Lisa’s house with her, Monroe, and James. We arrived about thirty minutes ago with an unconscious Henley. But we had called James the second I got off the phone with Derek. And true to his word, James had an entire medical staff here and set up in her room. We could only tell them so much that happened to her during those two days she was gone, one being the drugs forced down her throat. They decided the first thing to do was pump her stomach and start an IV to push fluids.

Lisa hasn’t stopped crying since we walked in, and she saw the state we found Henley in. And James hasn’t stopped pacing while we wait down here for Law to arrive. We were upstairs with Henley, but they shoved us out of the room, needing room to work.

I hear the front door open behind me. “Someone help me,” Derek calls out.

Monroe and I spin around to see Derek stepping into the house with a half-dead Law under his arm.

“Oh my God,” Lisa cries out, running to him, but James holds her back.

Monroe and I rush over to them and remove him from Derek’s arm, holding him up. His head is hanging forward, and blood drips from his mouth.

“He was talking, and then it was like he just crashed.” Derek speaks nervously. “I don’t know …”

“The adrenaline wore off,” I observe.

“Fuck, man.” Monroe hisses. “We tried to get to her …”

“Where is she?” Law manages to get out through his busted lips, lifting his head to scan the house with his one good eye.

“Upstairs but—”

“Take me to her,” he interrupts me.

“You need medical attention,” I tell him. “She’s safe and recovering. Now it’s your turn.”

Of course, he doesn’t like that idea. He shoves us both off him and starts stumbling his way up the stairs on shaky legs. I rush after to help him. The last thing he needs is for his legs to give out, and he fall down the stairs.