I don’t care about the blood on my hands or the death and anguish I’ve caused, but I know it scares Fallon, and the last thing I need is her becoming more fearful than she already is.
I remember the man’s phone as I’m staring down at my jeans and retrieve it from my pocket. It’s a burner phone, nothing special about it. There isn’t even a lock on it. Stupid fucker. It’s easy enough to navigate through, and I squeeze the phone hard enough to crush it like a pop can in my hand. In the messages is one single text, it’s to a random number. The content of the message is a photo of Fallon.
I clench my jaw in an attempt to stave off the roar that wants to release from within me. I will get to the bottom of this. I will extract any and all information I can from Fallon, no matter the cost. If knowing the truth is going to protect her, then so be it. I’ll be the big bad monster.
I’ll do whatever I have to, to protect her, us.
Loosening my grip on the phone, I walk over and place it on the nightstand. The number will be valuable information for later.
“I need to rinse off quickly,” I say through gritted teeth, the anger mounting. Fallon doesn’t even acknowledge me, not even as I walk into the bathroom and start the shower. I pop my head out of the shower every few seconds to make sure she is still there while the blood swirls down the drain.
Once clean, I grab a towel and dry off. Fallon is quietly sobbing when I enter the bedroom. I’m tempted to go to her and console her, but such a thing will have to wait. We need to get out of here before more men arrive.
I pick out clothing in the closet, get myself dressed, and grab a duffel bag that I find on the floor. Shoving some clothes into it for Fallon and myself, I return to the bed. There is another gun hidden beneath the bed, and I run my hand along the frame until I find it.
It’s a handgun, nothing fancy, but it will be good enough till we get where we need to be. I shove it into the back of my jeans, along with the phone from earlier, and walk over to Fallon.
“Let’s go,” I order, but she doesn’t move. “Fallon,” I say a little more sternly. She lifts her head and meets my gaze. She is frozen, an iceberg floating in a sea of endless emotions.
“We need to leave. There could be others coming.”
“I… I wasn’t running,” she whispers, her bottom lip trembling.
Whatever patience I had left is gone. I’m in no way capable of having this conversation right now. Not without wanting to throttle her. She knew what she was doing, knew that her one and only chance at escape would’ve been right then. I don’t for a second believe she wasn’t trying to escape, but again, this conversation will be better suited for another day.
“I don’t give a fuck right now, Fallon. Get up and pull yourself together. We need to leave,” I order once more and decide this time if she doesn’t obey that I’m simply going to pick her up and toss her over my shoulder.
She shakes her head, fear trickling back into her eyes. Of course, she tries to make a feeble attempt to escape me, crab walking to the headboard, but I’m past giving a shit, past all of it. This is survival now.
“I do not have the patience for your bullshit,” I hiss through my teeth and grab her by the waist. I pull her to the edge of the bed, getting a better grasp on her, and then toss her over my shoulder. Likewise, she struggles, but her escape is futile. She would have better luck fighting off a starving bear than me.
“I have to save her. I have to, you don’t understand, Markus.” She starts to scream while pounding her tiny fists against my back.
Her struggles intensify, and by the time I reach the car, I’m done. I have nothing left to give her. I’m hovering on the line of insanity, caught between crossing the line and standing on it. I drop the duffel bag to the ground and release my hold on Fallon at the same time. She slides down my front, her fists still raining fury down on me.
“I hate you and this place. I hate that my sister was taken…” She’s crying now. Big fat tears slip down her cheeks. “They are hurting her, he told me. It’s my fault… and your fault! You should have let me call them.”
All I can do is stare down at her.
Her cheeks are red, and angry lines of fresh tears streak her face. I should care. I should wipe the tears away, cradle her to my chest, and tell her everything is going to be okay.