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Killer raises his violent head, begging to unleash on this bastard. I allow one more punch to his face, the crunch of his nose and accompanying scream making the monster in me very, very happy. As much as I desperately want to continue hurting Max, making him suffer, causing him pain beyond anything he could imagine, I stop. It takes more willpower than I’ve summoned in my life to not beat Max to death. The only thing that stops it is the need to get to Britt.
Max is on the ground, nearly unconscious. I roll him over roughly, not giving a shit about the bits of broken glass digging into his flesh. Once I have his wallet out of his pants, I read his address and throw his shit on the ground next to his bloody face. I’m far from perfect, so I bend over and grab a hunk of hair, yanking his head back.
“You’re lucky I didn’t fucking kill you, but you better listen good. If I don’t find Britt or if she’s in any way harmed, I promise, I will finish you.”
I let go, his head hitting the ground with a thump. I’m in my car, phone in hand, calling the police to direct them to pick up Max’s carcass in the parking garage while speeding toward Britt.
I take the stairs three at a time, sprinting down the hall to number three fifty-five. I don’t give a shit anymore if I get arrested and can’t fight professionally. All I care about is Britt. Holding her, protecting her, loving her.
Without bothering to knock, I raise one leg and begin to kick down the door. It’s such a piece of shit it gives after three hard blows, the frame splintering to pieces.
“Britt! Britt! Baby, are you here?” I hurry past the broken doorframe. Close to losing it I mutter to myself. “She better be alive you piece of shit motherfucker!”
I check a tiny kitchen and empty living room without finding a thing. The bathroom is next, also empty, which only leaves one door. When I grip the knob, it turns but doesn’t open. I glance down. The lock is on the outside? Son of a bitch. It’s a padlock. This door is even flimsier than the other and it splits with one kick.
Patting the wall, I find the switch and flip it, illuminating the dark room. Every scorching bit of adrenaline and rage still boiling in my veins frosts over into pure, unadulterated fear. I hurry to the side of the bed in the center of the room, my feet heavier than blocks of lead. Britt is here all right. Her hands and feet are tied together and she’s in the middle of something I hoped I’d never have to witness again—a violent, bed-shaking, limb-twitching seizure.
“Oh my god!” I dial nine-one-one, spit out the address, and climb up on the bed, pulling Britt’s head onto my lap. Once again, I’m struck completely and absolutely helpless. “Britt, please come back to me,” I whisper, stroking her cheeks as her small body thrashes on the mattress, her eyes rolled back in her head. I wrap my arms around as much of her as I can, trying to keep Britt from injuring herself. “Come on, baby. You’re strong.” More damn tears fall from my eyes, but I hardly notice. My only concern is the woman in my arms. The woman I know I can’t live without. “You’re stronger than anyone I know, baby. Way stronger than me. Please, Britt. I need you.” My sobs grow louder, the sounds ripping from my chest almost inhuman. “I love you! Don’t leave me.”
Commotion outside catches my attention. Two large paramedics enter the room, bags slung on their shoulders. They begin talking in abbreviations and terms I don’t understand, pulling out various syringes and jabbing Britt’s pale skin.
“Sir, please let her go. We need to get her to the hospital immediately.” I nod woodenly, watching as they load Britt up, looking so tiny on the gurney, and roll her out. It feels like they took my heart with them, placing it on top of Britt on the stretcher. Fitting, since she holds my heart in her hands.
“Are you coming?” one of them shouts at me.
I snap out of my daze and hurry to follow. “Yes.”
As I climb into the back of the ambulance, Britt is still convulsing, her frail body twitching in the moonlight. It’s complete chaos as the medics continue shooting drugs into her system through an IV in her arm. One of the paramedics keeps giving me strange looks. That’s when I realize I’m still shirtless from punching out the car window and probably have streaks of Max’s blood on my hands.
Like I give a fuck right now.
I know I’d never leave Britt’s side, but a small part of me wants to go back to the parking garage. Take pleasure in hammering Max’s face with my fists over and over until it becomes unrecognizable. I know if I did, I’d literally kill him, and I can’t take the chance. All I can hope is the police got to him before he was able to get up. Britt needs me right now, and if I go to jail, I can’t be there for her.
I need to be there for Britt. Hell, I need her to be there for me. Like I said, Britt literally owns my heart. I’m not strong enough to lose someone else I love.
Britt
My throat is as dry as the cracked brown earth stretching across Death Valley. I swallow, attempting to create some sort of moisture, but all I manage to do is stick my tongue to the roof of my mouth.
Confused, I glance around the bright hospital room and find my mother asleep on one of the recliners.
Why do I keep waking up in hospitals?
Then I remember.
Keller. The invitation. The memories that came back. Max. The cloth.
Was any of it real?
I hold my arms out and see raw red and purple rings circling my wrists. Oh god. It really happened. All of it. My eyes burn, but I’m too dehydrated to create any tears.
“Mom,” I croak. She doesn’t move. Straining my parched throat, I try louder. “Mom!”
My mother’s eyes open slowly, blinking back sleep. When she realizes I’m awake, she jolts upright and rushes to my side, taking my hand.
“Britton? Thank god!” Her lip trembles and her eyes shine with moisture. “They weren’t sure of the extent of the damage from…” She pauses. “It’s not important. Let me get the doctor.”
Before she can leave, I grab her hand. “Mom?”
