Page 26 of Blossoming Dahlia

Chapter seventeen

Asher

Iwoke up coughing, blood and phlegm threatening to choke me. I spat a mouthful of blood on the floor, wincing as my face added to the areas on my body that were currently at war with me. Sitting this long in a chair wasn’t helping either, my hands were going numb, and I flexed as best I could to get the feeling back in them. I needed my hands to get us out of here.

Mouthing off to Curing had been a stupid fucking idea, I knew that even when I started it. I just wanted to get him off of Dahlia, even if it meant taking a beating for it. I couldn’t stand the way he touched her, like she belonged to him somehow. It made my blood boil.

Dahlia was lying on the bed again, and I wasn’t sure how much time had passed since Curing had knocked me out. “Dahlia,” I called softly, checking to see if she was awake. Her head turned toward me, eyes lighting up in relief when she saw I was awake.

She sat up quickly, climbing off the bed and coming as close as the chain allowed. She’d been crying, and I wondered if he’dcome back while I’d been out. Her fingers reached out as if trying to touch my face. “I’m fine,” I told her quickly, guessing at what she was worried about. “I skipped a lot of grades in school, that’s not even in the top ten worst ass-kickings I’ve gotten.”

That didn’t seem to reassure her much, but her hand dropped back to her side, and her face relaxed a touch. I didn’t like the sadness lingering in her eyes, she looked like someone quickly giving up hope. “I’m going to get us out of here,” I told her, sitting up as much as I could to get closer to her. “I swear on my life, you will get out of here.”

I meant it too, I would get her out of this godforsaken room. Even if it meant not getting out myself. The click of the lock shut my mouth, and Dahlia took a step back as the door opened, Curing walking in. He didn’t have a dress with him this time, but he did have a large hunting knife in his hands. Fuck, my half-thought out plan just got a shortened timeline. I jerked my hand, pulling the cuff down until it was as far as it would go. I watched Curing as I worked, yanking the metal until it cut into my skin.

Dahlia retreated backward, away from Curing as he stalked toward her, stumbling in the stupid shoes he forced her to wear. “Come here, little doll,” he muttered, grabbing the chain and jerking it toward him. I heard Dahlia gasp as she fell back against him, her hands going up to her neck as he wrapped his arm around her waist, holding the knife loosely in his other hand.

“Let her go, Curing,” I snarled, feeling the blood dripping down my wrist, making my hand slick. It gave me a little wiggle-room, but not enough. I knew what I’d need to do, and it was going to fucking hurt. Curing whirled on me, dragging Dahlia with him.

“She’s mine, don’t you understand that? She’s my doll, and I can do whatever the fuck I want with her!” he spat back, and I swore as he brought the knife down, slicing through the frontof the dress like butter. Dahlia was shaking as Curing shredded the dress off of her body, nicking her with the knife in his haste. Small rivulets of blood began to run down her body, and he smeared them with his hands, holding her in front of me like a taunt.

“You can’t do shit, Mr. FBI. None of you can. You didn’t even find all of my other dolls.” He laughed, and I used the noise to cover the cracking sound my thumb made as I broke the bone. I inhaled sharply as the wave of pain made my vision tunnel, but I could now slip my hand through the cuff, careful not to let it drop and make a sound.

“Dahlia, look at me. Just block it out, okay?” I hissed, and her eyes found mine, glazed over with fear. “Think about something else. Think about Rosabelle.” I raised my eyebrows, begging her to understand. I could see her eyes widen a fraction, then she glanced down at my waist, or where my hands were behind my back.

“You’ll think about what I tell you to think about,” Curing growled, his hands gripping her possessively. I saw her look at the knife in his hands, then down at my legs, where they were still taped to the chair. I didn’t want her to figure out my plan because, if she knew I was just going to be the distraction, she might not run when she needed to. I saw the moment when she realized what I was about to do, and her eyes widened, disbelief evident on her face.

Her mouth set in a thin line, and a flash of determination rippled across her features. “Dahlia, please,” I hissed, but it was too late. She inhaled sharply and her mouth opened, her hands going up to grip Curing’s, startling him. The scream barely escaped her throat before it was cut off, her body convulsing as the electricity from the collar coursed through her. She had a tight grip on both of Curing’s hands, giving him a dose of hisown sick medicine, and his eyes rolled back into his head as he dropped the knife.

I jumped up out of the chair, lunging forward despite my legs being bound, and caught Dahlia as she fell, lowering her carefully to the floor. I let Curing fall, and he landed with a hard thud on the concrete behind him. I snatched the knife and sawed through the duct tape on my legs as quickly as I could, then I went to him, ready to stab him before he could get back up.

But… he wasn’t moving. His lips had a bluish tinge to them, and his skin started to turn ashen. I watched him carefully as I leaned down to check his pulse, but there was none. How fucking strong was that collar?! I rushed to Dahlia’s side, but she was breathing, her lips parted as she gasped in lungfuls of air. I used the knife to carefully saw through the leather part of the collar, pulling it off of her and tossing it to the floor. Her neck had another fresh burn, blood oozing from where the prongs had bitten into her skin.

As carefully as possible, I lifted her up into my arms and walked out of the room, swinging the door shut behind me. This must’ve been Curing’s living space, he had the same TV set up to watch the inside of the room like he’d had before. I spotted a familiar shirt in the corner and found a pile of my belongings underneath. My phone was missing, as I’d suspected, but my badge and gun were here, as well as my Kevlar vest and my dress-shirt, which had seen better days. I set Dahlia down on the nearby sofa and covered her up with my shirt as best I could, tugging the vest over my bruised body and replacing my gun and badge on my hip.

Once Dahlia was modestly covered, I scooped her back up and found the stairs. The house was in a state of disrepair, clearly abandoned before Curing had discovered it. I checked the land line, but it was dead. Hugging Dahlia close to my chest, I went out the front door, taking in our surroundings. It was a rundown neighborhood in an older part of town, the houses smaller and likely built in the 50‘s or 60’s. I stumbled down the front path until I reached the sidewalk, looking at the nearby houses, checking for signs of life. At least two of the houses were also abandoned, but there was one that had a neat row of flowers planted on either side of the walkway, so someone clearly lived there.

It was late, or maybe early, so no lights were on in the house, but I walked up anyway, ringing the doorbell a couple times. The lights came on in the hallway, shining through the small window above the door. “Who’s there?” someone shouted, sounding gruff with sleep.

“FBI Agent Asher Cross! I need you to call the police, I’ve got an injured person in need of medical assistance!” I called out, and for a moment no one answered. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and pain was beginning to bleed back into my awareness, the extent of my injuries becoming apparent. I was just about to leave and try another house when the door opened, and a small, older woman stared up at me.

“Come on in dear, Louie is just on the phone now, but maybe you should talk to them,” she told me, ushering me inside. The house was dated inside as well, but well looked after, and I felt immediately guilty for tracking in dirt and whatever else we were covered in across the carpet.

“Irene, I told you not to open the damn door!” Louie groused, peering around the corner at me, the corded phone still up to his ear. He was old as well, and quite stocky—I could bet he was a bruiser in his day.

“Oh hush Louie, just look at the poor thing,” Irene snapped back, and I thought she meant Dahlia, but then she patted my arm gently. “Come on dear, set the poor lamb down on the couch here.” She pointed into her living room, and I obeyed, lowering Dahlia down gently onto the cushions, making sure my shirtstayed, covering her, to protect her modesty as much as I could. I stood back up, and saw Louie watching me closely from around the corner, a baseball bat in his hands.

“Sir, would you mind if I spoke to them?” I asked, and he nodded, holding out the phone toward me.

“Hello, is this dispatch?” I asked, and they confirmed it was. “This is Dr. Asher Cross with the FBI, badge number Oh-Three-Tango-Lima-Three reporting in. I need an ambulance and officers at...” I looked up at Louie, who hadn’t moved an inch since he’d handed me the phone. “Sorry sir, what’s the address here?”

“18 Crescent Hill,” he replied sharply, and I relayed the address. “Please contact Unit Chief Parsons with the FBI, we have Steve Curing subdued nearby.” I heard Irene gasp sharply, clearly eavesdropping on the phone call. I handed Louie back the phone once the dispatcher acknowledged my report and returned to Dahlia’s side. Irene had pulled another blanket over her and toddled back into the kitchen when I took up vigil beside the couch. I sank down to the floor, my legs no longer able to hold me, and leaned my back against the couch. Dahlia was safe now, I’d gotten her out of there like I’d promised.

“Here, drink some water,” Irene instructed, holding a glass out for me. I took it and gave her a tired smile, her eyes sweeping over the blood still oozing down my arm. I’d really cut into my skin with the cuffs, deeper than I’d intended. I’d need stitches for sure.

“Irene, get the boy something stronger, just look at him for Christ sake,” Louie snapped, and she gave him a sharp look.

“I’ll put on a pot,” she announced, wandering back into the kitchen. I heard Louie huff behind me, and he came around a moment later, holding out a glass with some amber colored liquor in it. He had his own glass of the stuff, and he settled back into what was clearly his arm chair, the baseball bat positionedbetween his legs. He might look in his 80‘s, but I was sure if it came down to it, I wouldn’t walk away from a fight with him. I took a sip of the drink he’d handed me, my eyes watering as the scotch hit the back of my throat.

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