Page 48 of Sticks and Stones (Shadow Valley U)
“Where is he?”
The barrel digs into my head, and I whimper. “I don’t know.”
I don’t. I really don’t. My father is no knight in shining armor, but right now, his appearance would save me.
“Where’s the money, then?”
He doesn’t tell me where the money is. Why would he?
My shaky voice breaks through the pounding in my ears. “I don’t know. I can… I can give you a fresh batch if that’ll help until he gets back?”
Please work. Please work. Please work.
“A fresh batch? How old are you? You can’t honestly think I’ll believe a teenage girl is the one cooking.”
The man has a large scar running down his face that stops just above his upper lip. There are scars all over his face, but the long one is what sends a chill down my spine.
“A fresh batch? We want something else.”
“What do you want?” I shift my attention to the guy standing near the door. I’m eager. I’d do anything to get the gun off the back of my head. Fear makes you do wild things. I’ve learned that the hard way.
“You.”
The gun becomes a little less forceful, and my body is numb. My stomach twists, and instead of swallowing my tears, I’m now swallowing regret. Shit.
“How old are you?”
The very tip of the gun comes around my neck, and my hair is pulled backward.
“Sixteen,” I answer.
“Good enough for me.”
A pair of boots are in front of me, and I’m pushed to my back. I’m on the floor with the cockroaches as my audience. I tell myself to stay strong and to just put my mind somewhere else, but the fighter inside of me can’t fathom it, so I scream.
I scream so loud that my throat hurts worse than the force between my legs.
“Goddamn it, Wren!”
My throat burns when I gasp for air. I scramble backward and smack my back off the wall. My head is caught by someone’s hand before it hits, and I hear my sob loud and clear.
“Look at me.”
I can’t breathe.
I can’t do anything but shake.
I gasp and gasp until two hands cup my cheeks, stroking the skin underneath my eyes.
“Look at my eyes, baby.”
I blink past the tears and find myself clinging to the blue for dear life. I grip his wrists so hard I’m positive I’ve made him bleed. He takes it, though. Stone says nothing. He continues to stare into my eyes, breathing slowly out of his mouth, trying to get me to do the same.
“You’re safe,” he whispers.
I’m too weak to argue, and I’m too weak to pretend like I don’t need someone at this moment, because I do. Instead of pushing Stone away, I pull him in closer and bury my head into the crook of his neck, soaking his shirt with my tacky skin and wet face.
I feel the movement without opening my eyes. I’m in his arms, and he’s moving me out of my room. My door has a hole in it. The wood is splintered. I locked the door before going to sleep, and I’m pretty certain Stone used his fist to break it down to get to me.