Page 76 of The Lies That Shatter
“I’ve been working with him to bring you down, so I can take over as the rightful leader of the Marcushios, with him bymy side. He has more power than you can even dream of, and together, we are going to rule.”
Bree snorts from beside me. “You’re an idiot if you think he’s going to give anyone more power than himself. Whitlock is a master manipulator, and he’s played you good. He’s telling you that you will be the leader, but you’ll just be another of his soldiers.”
Bran’s eyes narrow as he processes what Bree said, though I can tell he doesn’t want to believe it. He looks like he’s about to argue with her, but I cut him off, pulling him back to the issue at hand. “Give me the address of where McKenna is!”
He rolls his eyes at my impatience, but as he does, his head starts to sway. Clearly the blood loss is making him dizzy, and I need to get the information out of him before he passes out.
As soon as he tells me the address, I give him a wicked smile and pull out the gun I have stashed in a holster at my back, aiming it straight at him. Before I have the chance to fire, Kian steps in front of me, and my eyes widen.
“No, Finn. I’m sorry, I can’t let you kill him. His death doesn’t belong to you,” Kian explains as he uses a hand to lower my weapon to the floor.
I hate the smug look on Bran’s face, though it quickly slips away. I hear the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, which is strange because I thought everyone was already in the room with us. Brandon’s eyes widen and he freezes at the sound.
I turn slightly and see my sister, Freya, walking into the room. Her face is hard in a way I’ve never seen before. Her crystal blue eyes are fixed on Brandon, though for a split second she casts a glance to Kian, who gives her one of his lopsided smirks.
Everything then seems to move in slow motion, though it’s probably over in a matter of seconds. A smile causes the corners of Freya’s lips to tilt up, and she pulls a gun out from behind her.Without a moment’s hesitation, she raises her arm in front of her, aims, and pulls the trigger.
The bullet flies out of the barrel and hits Brandon smack centre between the eyes, the sound of the gunshot echoing around the room long after the light leaves his cold, dead eyes.
Now that it’s over, her previously straight, sure arm begins to tremble, and she hands the gun over to Kian when he asks for it. He checks the barrel is empty and puts the safety on before passing the gun to Bree. He then pulls Freya into his arms, whispering words of support the rest of us probably weren’t meant to hear.
It seems to take a few minutes for my brain to catch up with what the hell I just saw. My sweet, quiet sister just walked in here like a badass and put a bullet in Brandon’s brain, like it’s something she does every day. I shake my head in confusion, which Freya must see.
“I’ve been practising. I promised him a long time ago that his death belonged to me, and I keep my promises. He tried to take Kian from me, and I won’t ever forget that,” Freya explains, and in that moment, I understand her so much more.
The pain I feel right now at McKenna's absence, is something my sister felt too. I hope his death gives her some kind of peace. I know that when I find the people who have Mac, I will take the same pleasure in ending their lives—that includes Mel.
As we go over the plans for her rescue, while Kellan finds out all about the place where they’re keeping McKenna, I remind myself of the lengths we’re willing to go to in order to protect those we love.
I once said the most dangerous man in the world is someone with nothing to lose, but I know I was wrong. A man with everything to lose is the most dangerous of all. I won’t stop until I have McKenna back, even if I have to become the villain I never wanted to be.
From the moment I try opening my eyes, I know something isn’t right. The pounding reverberating around my head is deafening, and the back of my skull is so fucking sore, I daren’t even move. I lift my lids slowly, and it takes a few seconds of blinking for the spots in my vision to dissipate, as I try to get my bearings.
The room is dark, the only light is shining in through the slits around the door opposite. It’s enough for me to see bits of the small room, but not much. As soon as I try to move, I realise something is very wrong.
I’m laying on a hard mattress, sharp bedsprings poking into my back. But I’m more concerned that I can’t move any of my limbs. My arms are spread above me, and a slight tilt of my headconfirms that each wrist is tied to the metal frame of the bed. I can feel my ankles are secured in the same way, pulling me into a starfish position, but I lift my head as much as I can to confirm.
The movement causes my head to pound further, and as I lay back down, a strange stinging and pulling sensation rips down the back of my skull. I can’t remember how I was taken, but I’m guessing I received a blow to the head. By the feel of it, every time I move, I’m aggravating the wound that’s trying to knit together and heal on its own.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been unconscious, but I don’t feel a wet sensation that suggests blood is still dripping from the wound. Meaning it’s been long enough that it’s started healing on its own.
Taking a few deep breaths to quell the nausea rising within, I try to stay focused. I need to think, rather than panic, if I’m going to get out of this shitshow. This time, when I gently lift my head, I move slower and more deliberately, taking in the whole of my surroundings.
First thing I notice is that I’m only wearing my black lace bra and matching boy shorts, my clothes are nowhere to be seen. I don’t appear to have any visible wounds, though my body aches in a way that tells me I probably did put up a fight, enough to cause a few bruises that have yet to show, but nothing permanent. Part of me is pissed that I didn’t fight more, but as I can’t even remember who took me, let alone how many there were, I give ‘Past McKenna’ a break on this one.
I take in the room, as much as I can given the shadows, though there’s nothing really to note. The walls are all grey concrete, as is the floor. It’s cold and dark, just as you’d expect of a prison cell. There’s a light bulb hanging down from the ceiling above me, and a wardrobe over by the wall on the right. I note that the wardrobe doors are closed with a padlock, which sparks an element of curiosity in me.
There are no external windows showing off the outside, so I have no idea if it’s day or night. There’s no way for me to look outside and try to get an idea of where I might be. The room is as bleak as my mood, as it dawns on me that there may not be a way out of this.
The metal framed bed I’m on takes up most of the space, and is placed in the centre of the room, so someone could walk in a circle around it, which is strange. Most people have at least one side of the bed against a wall, usually the head. Its positioning somehow makes me feel even more exposed.
The only thing I note that looks really out of place in the dark, drab room is the large mirror on the wall next to the door. It takes up most of the top half of the wall, and simply reflects the bleak walls surrounding it. I try to see more, but there’s not enough light.
The more I look around, the more I start to panic. It’s obvious I’ve been kidnapped, but nothing about this room suggests it’s somewhere to keep a prisoner long-term. There’s no bathroom, for starters. Which means they don’t plan on keeping me here long, and I have no idea if that’s a good thing or not.
Obviously, I don’t want to be held prisoner for a long time, as I have no idea what they plan on doing with me during my stay. But I also know that the more I’m moved around, the less likely it is that Finn will be able to find me. Or maybe they don’t plan to keep me long-term because I will be dead?
As the thoughts take over my mind, fear creeps across my skin like ants, and ice floods my veins. As the fear becomes all consuming, I do the only thing I can think of… I scream. I cry out, shouting for anyone who can hear me. I beg for whoever is listening to let me go, telling them that I don’t deserve this. I allow my desperation to pour out of me as I thrash around, yelling and howling as vehemently as I can.
