Page 34 of All Your Bloody Lies

I’m busy… Do you know how long that drive is?

I don’t give a fuck what you are, or how long the drive is. You owe me, Ty. I need a ride. I’ll be at your apartment in one hour. Be ready.

T Benidict [01:06]

Still a bitch I see.

Forever. See you soon. Bring a charger.

12

Xeraphine

“Have a great night, Tony! See you tomorrow!” I’m so thankful for the next two days off. This week has been a nightmare at the market. There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind there has been a rise in weddings. Five wedding cakes in three days? My Gods, what a shitshow.

As I step out the back door, I take a deep breath. The smell of exhaust fumes and cigarettes hit me immediately, and I grimace. Disgusting, I hate living in the city. I wish I could afford to live by the coast, but even if I could, it’s a few hours’ drive from here and I do not want that commute.

It isn’t strange that a car is parked back here, but the fact there are three is weird. One of them is Tony’s, but I don’t recognize the others. One is a black sedan with blacked-out windows, the other a van with the same tint.

I’m not a fucking idiot; that is too suspicious for me.

“Tony?!” I raise my voice and take the singular step back up to the bakery when rough hands grab me around my waist. “No!!”

My elbow lands its mark on my assailant’s nose, and he grimaces.

While his arms never let me go, I’m able to squirm further and grab hold of the doorknob. “Tony! Help, Tony!”

“Shut your fucking mouth or he dies!” A voice to my right comes as soon as I’m shrouded in darkness.

I don’t care; I can’t let them take me willingly. “Help! Someone help me!” I say it over and over again as I kick and fight the four hands draggingme toward the direction of the vehicles.

I drop all of my weight, and while I’m not small by any means, I’m not heavy enough to throw either of them off balance. They only grunt in frustration, and I feel a solid punch hit my ribs, sending my entire body vibrating under the sheer pain it causes.

It’s then I hear a door open, but not that of a vehicle. “Xera—”

Tony doesn’t even get my full name out when three bullets are fired.

The scream that leaves me is so loud that my ears pop. That isn’t what sends me into unconsciousness. It’s the sheer fear and anguish I feel of having just killed Tony because he was coming to save me.

I’m going to die… After all I’ve suffered through already…

I am utterly exhausted; it feels like I barely make it five minutes into the drive before I find myself curled up tightly in my seat, already snoring away. Upon waking, I have a blanket draped over me, with what I assume is Tyson’s sweater gently cradling my head. Despite the heater being on, he has the windows cracked for a breath of fresh air.

As I stretch my legs, my knees emit audible pops. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a dark hand lowering the volume on the radio. The music is playing, but it doesn’t quite register with me; my thoughts are preoccupied with my own internal monologue.

Why did I even have that dream? It’s been ages since I last had one. I suppose you could call it more of a nightmare, but then again, that’s just semantics.

“You were snoring,” Tyson chuckles, breaking the silence.

Lazily, I turn my gaze toward him. His hazel eyes briefly meet mine before returning to focus on the road ahead.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep,” he continues. “You actually looked... peaceful.” I want to inquire about my usual appearance, but deep down, I already know the answer.

There’s a brief pause, during which I toss the blanket back into the rear seat. Tyson’s hand moves to the stick shift, resting it there, while the other remains on the wheel.

“How much farther until we get there?” I inquire, noticing the trees lining the road ahead. This stretch looks like the Bison Road leading straight to the asylum, but that can’t be possible.

“About fifteen minutes,” he replies.

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