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He could think whatever he wanted. It didn’t make a difference in the long run. Yes, I was shocked that my mother was dead, but she’d been dead to me for a very long time. She’d been neglectful, wasteful with the time we had. Drugs, random men, and booze had been what were important to her.
And if I could have, I would have left long before now. But I wanted him to think he had the upper hand. I wanted him to think telling me this made me weaker, vulnerable. He didn’t know me very well. I was a fighter, had to be with how I’d grown up and lived.
He stood then, reached behind the small of his back, and then produced a blade.
A hunting knife.
“I meant it when I said you and I are going to have some real fun time, Poppy.” He took a step toward me and I braced, knowing that no matter what happened, I would fight until the very end.
I would not give him the satisfaction of knowing I surrendered in any capacity.
“Nothing to say, girl?”
I pursed my lips. “Fuck. You.”
I watched, as if in slow motion, as he pulled his arm back. He was going to hit me.
I tensed, prepared. But as I closed my eyes, as time seemed to stand still, I heard the sound of footsteps coming closer, heavy and loud. I heard the sound of Henry grunting, a body crashing against the wall right next to me. I curled into myself, my eyes still closed, the noise deafening, surrounding me.
I heard a lot of noise, a lot of swearing and grunting, fists hitting flesh, and the scent of aggression filled the air. But still my eyes were closed. I couldn’t have opened them even if I wanted to.
My heart was racing, painful and fast. And the noise left, going down the hallway, the fight getting farther away from me. I did open my eyes then, dizziness slamming into me, lights and flashes swimming in front of my vision. I found the strength to push away from the corner of the wall, to look around the door.
I saw two bodies down the hallway, shadows shrouding them, the fight clear. One was Henry… the other was Butcher. I could see the fierceness on his face as the moonlight shone through the living room window. He looked collected and calm, but rage-filled and determined.
I saw his fury. I felt it. It burned brightly, like a wildfire destroying everything in its path.
And then in the blink of an eye, I saw Henry produce a gun, saw them scuffling right before it went off. Both men grunted, and I cried out, finally finding my voice, the strength to pull myself up filling me.
I stumbled down the hallway, placing a hand on the wall beside me to steady myself. Butcher leaned back against the wall for just a second, his hand on his shoulder. I was focused on Henry. My anger burned brightly inside me, fueling me, giving me strength. He turned and looked at me for just a second before opening the front door and leaving, the sound of him running away filling my head.
And then I got to Butcher, saw him standing as if he hadn’t just gotten shot. He had concentration written across his face as he looked at me to the door and back to me again.
He wanted to go after Henry, and maybe he would have if I hadn’t fallen to my knees right then, holding my hand to my head as I felt more blood dripping down my temple.
“Your shoulder,” I managed to wheeze out, the pain in my head sending nausea and dizziness through me.
“A flesh wound,” he said. “I’m more concerned about you.” He was right by my side then. “You’re okay now. I got you.”
His voice sounded distant.
I wanted to stay conscious, but I knew it was futile. I felt those dark talons creeping around my vision, curling their long claws into my brain, squeezing until pain exploded behind my eyes and I finally gave in.
Chapter Ten
Poppy
It was the pain that woke me up, a burning, heart-racing-induced agony that had consciousness slowly filling me. I didn’t open my eyes, but I could tell there was a light on, its orangey glow casting shadows behind my closed lids. I took stock of where I was, what I was feeling. Aside from the pain, I was on a bed, softness and warmth surrounding me. I could smell something masculine, cologne maybe. It enveloped me, calmed me.
I could feel the tips of my hair brushing along my collarbones, the ends having dried already, tickling my flesh. The memory of why they were wet swam through my head like a broken record, bits being plucked out one by one.
I opened my eyes then, blinking a few times past the harsh light. I realized it wasn’t bright at all but this dim glow coming from the corner. But it felt like the sun was in the room, and all that did was make the pain in my head intensify. I lifted my hand, groaning as I did it, and touched the side of my temple, right by my hairline. I felt something hard, dried blood maybe, right below the softness of what I assumed was a bandage.
“Easy there.” The voice was deep and close, and I turned my head to the side slowly to see Butcher sitting in a chair in the corner by the light, his big body seeming to dwarf everything.
For a moment, I was reminded of Alice in Wonderland, when she ate the little muffin and grew and grew and grew. Was I losing my mind to be thinking of something so strange at a time like this? I tried to push myself up but groaned at how sore I was. I thought about flailing around in the tub, my body banging against the porcelain. Made sense that I felt like I’d gotten run over by a cement truck.
“Easy there, Poppy,” he repeated.
