Make You Beg

“What happened to him?” I hear Lisa sob.

“He couldn’t fight back until we had Henley.” Monroe’s voice carries up the staircase.

Which, in all honesty, he could have. Steve didn’t have any fucking service down where he had Henley, and Scout knew that. He just lied to Law, knowing that Law would beat his ass right off the bat. Scout just wanted to humiliate Law in front of a crowd. Take advantage of a situation, knowing Law wouldn’t gamble with Henley’s life.

We hit the landing, and I wrap his arm over my shoulders to steady him better, then make our way down the hallway. He places his hand on the wall for extra support, and blood smears across it.

Opening her door, we enter. She lies in her bed, propped up on pillows. Her hair is still wet, but physically, she looks fine. She doesn’t have any new visible injuries other than the rope burns on her wrists and ankles. I think they messed with her psychologically more than anything. No telling what state of mind the LSD put her in.

“Is she …?”

“Sedated,” I answer, helping him over to her.

Removing his arm from around my shoulders, he slowly bends and sits down on the amethyst-colored rug with his back to her side of the bed. Reaching up, he grabs her hand and pulls it to where her hand and part of her arm hangs off the side of the mattress. He kisses her knuckles. “I’m here, little doll. I’m here,” he whispers before closing his eyes and letting out a long breath.

“He needs to go to the hospital.” I hear Lisa arguing with Monroe as I walk back down the stairs, giving Law a moment alone with Henley.

“He’s not going to leave her.” Monroe shakes his head.

“He could have internal injuries. He needs X-rays. CT scans. Possibly an MRI.” She looks at James. “Please, help me get him to the hospital. There’s no reason he can’t go.”

“I can’t do that,” he says sternly.

“James …” She gasps. “Did you not see him?”

“I did. And I also saw how he was more concerned about Henley than himself.” He reaches up and cups her face. “I wouldn’t leave you either.”

“But …”

“I’ll have the medical staff attend to him. If they think he needs extensive testing, then I’ll take him, but let’s try this first.”

She nods, seeming pacified by this. “Did you guys see what happened?” she asks Monroe and me.

We go to say no, but someone behind us speaks. “It was brutal.”

Turning around, we see Derek is still here, standing by the closed front doors, clutching a backpack to his chest. His wide eyes are fixated on the marble floor in the foyer where the blood dripped from Law’s mouth. “He just kneeled there.” He swallows. “Took hit after hit. Then when you finally called …” His dark eyes meet mine and then Monroe’s. “I couldn’t get his attention. He was too far gone. Too fucked up. I kept screaming his name. I decided to rush out into the ring, but Matthew yanked me back, and Law finally noticed me making a scene.” Letting go of the backpack, he hands it over to me. “He spent ten grand to get his ass kicked.”

“What?” Lisa gasps. “Ten thousand dollars? Why …?”

“Rules of the Graveyard.” I answer, “You don’t fight back, the fight ends.”

“He needed to make sure it kept going.” James nods his head in understanding. “What about Steve?”

“Have him taken care of,” Monroe answers vaguely.

Lisa just blinks at that, not knowing what he means and too afraid to ask.

“And Scout?” James growls his name.

“When we left”—Derek steps forward—“he was lying in the middle of the ring knocked out.”

We’re going back to get him, but I don’t say that out loud. Lisa has heard all she can handle for the day.

Monroe sighs and looks at James. “Call us and let us know what’s going on. We’ll be back later.” He turns, and I follow him to the front door.

“Come on, Derek,” I call out, stopping and waiting for him.

“What? Where are we going now?” he asks, placing his face in his shaking hands.

Poor guy. “We’re going to go pick up our trash.”

He looks up at me and frowns. “And I have to help?”

I nod. “You’re a Reaper now, and it’s time to go and collect some souls.”

GRAYSON LAW

I sit on my doll’s couch over by her French doors. A man stands in front of me while a woman places my right arm in a sling. Somehow, it’s not broken, but they want me to use it as little as possible for now. The moment they walk out of here, I’m throwing it away.

I took fifty-seven stitches and have those butterfly bandages on my face, holding most of it together with some kind of glue. I refused to let James take me to the hospital, even when my mother begged me to go. I’m not leaving my doll. Thankfully James understood that and didn’t push the issue.