Chapter Twenty-Five
DREW
Don’t fuck this up.
Stay calm.
What the fuck ever.
No mantra was going to help him or me if that son of a bitch pushed me in the back one more time. No words of my own wisdom were going to save any of us if they didn’t get their hands off Ayda.
We made it to the rolling door, where one of the Navs pressed a button to send it creaking all the way up. He turned to me and smiled, half his teeth missing and eyes creased with fucking dirt. He was a giant among men, placing himself as Goliath and leaving me to be David, but I’d faced bigger men than him before and lived to tell the tale.
Just.
I rolled my head to the side and checked over Ayda, making sure she hadn’t been harmed already. Her chin was standing proud and her eyes, even though scared, were determined.
I couldn’t believe we were here again. After so many promises to keep her safe, we were back in another enemy’s grip, being thrown around like chew toys. I was tired of it all. Sick, tired, and motherfucking angry. Looking down at myfeet, I took a moment to try and control my breathing as it picked up speed.
Kill them all.
If any mantra was going to stick, it was, without a doubt, that one, but I even shook that one away when a smartass Nav smaller than Rubin came to stand in front of me like he could take me if he wanted to. He was young, dumb, full of come, and messing with guns he sure as shit better know how to handle if he was going to aim one at me. The guy was in his early twenties, with flopping black hair that fell past his ears, and a face thinner and longer than a fucking horse’s. His eyes were narrowed, and he ran a thumb under his nose, parting his lips to say something.
I probably should have given him time to speak, but he was there, and I was angry, and when he took a step closer to me—so close that I could feel his whiskey-coated breath on my face—he left me with no choice. I drew my head back only to snap it forward, smashing my skull into his with a force that knocked that little fucker straight to the ground while I stood there watching over him, barely flinching.
“You fucking—” the kid spat out as he rolled around at my feet, but the rest of what he had to say was drowned out when the Nav to my left threw a precise right hook straight across my jaw, making me stumble to the side until I could hear nothing but a wild ringing noise in my ears for a few seconds.
I then blinked hard and shook my head, unable to help the playful smile that tugged on the corner of my mouth.
“Sorry. My head slipped,” I croaked out, only to be pulled back by my bicep by the giant, my hands yanked behind my back hard before he twisted them up, making me rise on my toes and grit my teeth against the painful stretch of my limbs.
“Next time you lash out, we’ll hurt the girl,” he growled in my ear. “We might fuck her, too.”
If I got hold of a gun during any of this, I made a vow to killthat motherfucker first.
There was a grunt from Ayda behind me, but it wasn’t the kind that told me she was in pain. More than she was unstable on her feet and struggling on purpose. Reminding me that she was there and witnessing everything—yet again.
When the rolling door reached its full height in front of me, I found myself staring at nothing other than rose petals on the floor in an open, empty space, their path in a neat little line that led around a dark corner I couldn’t see.
Whatever was about to happen, Trigger intended to put on a show.
I swallowed down the sharp stabbing in my gut that warned me this was going to be bad, and I found myself moving when Goliath pushed me into the path of the petals.
The inside of the warehouse was much like the one we’d burned to the ground with The Emps inside of it. Muted light filtered through from dirty windows up high, out of reach. The floors were covered in debris with a few boxes stacked up here and there. The four Navs led Ayda and me around the corner, and when we turned it, I froze in place, unable to move.
The path of rose petals led to a white altar with a flowered arch over it. Two rows of chairs were set about ten feet in front of it, the whole scene surrounded by pillars and ropes that made it seem like a wedding ceremony had been set up inside a ground-level boxing ring.
Beyond all the details, the white decorations hanging from the high ceilings, and the ribbons that hung off the back of the chairs, there were two things that turned my stomach into angry knots of nausea.
One was Travis Gatlin, standing beside the erected altar, wearing a crisp white shirt and a black tie under his leather cut. A smug smile dominated his face as he stood there watching me, his hands clasped together in front of him.
The second thing to turn me sick was my father.
Unconscious.
Strung up the exact same way the Emps had strung me up in that warehouse of nightmares. Eric’s arms were spread out like he was Jesus, with long, thick, steel chains keeping him in place. The tips of his toes barely touched the raised platform of the altar, and his chin hung down to his chest, the blood dripping from his mouth in slow droplets.
“The guests of honor have arrived,” Trigger called out. “Come!” He raised a hand and beckoned us forward.