Page 20 of Beautifully Shattered
Gripping the handles of the wheelchair, I push it, moving us out into the hallway in the direction he points. His eyes are panicked when they flash in the other direction, and a shiver ripples up my spine.
“What fucking room is she in?!” a male voice bellows from somewhere behind us, and I nearly let a squeal escape, fear slicing through me.
“I’ll take Jols. We have to hurry.” JD urges me aside, taking control of the wheelchair and pushing it faster. My feet scramble to keep up as the voices grow fainter behind us.
But then, something warm starts oozing down my leg, and my feet slow as I try to see what it is.
Bright red blood streaks down my calf, despite the thick pad I’m wearing beneath my underwear.
I’m bleeding.
I’m bleeding because I’m not pregnant anymore.
Because I gave birth… and my baby died.
I’m bleeding because those Satan’s Rebels pricks teamed up with Officer Allen and made sure I was left vulnerable enough to be taken.
A kidnapping that led to the fall. A fall that led to premature labour.
The labour that led to Bobbi’s death.
Suddenly, JD and Jols vanish from my sight as red rims the edges, and rage wraps around my heart like barbed wire.
I turn.
I start walking back.
Back towards the voices.
Back towards the threat.
Back towards the nurses being bullied for information.
I don’t try to hide the blood running down my leg.
Let them see whattheydid.
Let them see whattheycaused.
Let them bear witness to whattheycreated.
“Are you looking for me?!” I yell, storming straight for them, adrenaline pulsing through my veins as I take in the four guys wearing leather vests, covered in the tackiest tattoos I’ve ever seen.
“Shit! No! Abbey!” JD’s voice comes from behind me, but it’s far away. He must not have noticed I’d stopped and changed direction until he heard my voice.
“Damn. Yeah. You’re the bitch we are here for.” The skinhead sneers, eyes lighting up as he pulls out a gun and aims it at me.
“Yeah? You here to kill me?” I ask, closing the distance quickly, my actions causing a slight pucker between his brows, which only deepens when I step right up to him. So close that I lean forward and press my forehead to the tip of his barrel. “Do it. Pull the trigger.”
His jaw ticks. “I fucking wish. Sluts like you deserve to die, but my orders are to bring you in.”
“A Sadist is coming!” one of his buddies hisses behind him, drawing his attention, and his gun dips.
I move, my eyes trained on the gun, my hand wrapping around the barrel, yanking it from his grip before he even knows what’s happening.
“What the…” he trails off as I level the barrel between his eyes.
“Angel!” Ringo’s voice booms from somewhere, but I ignore him and the nurses scurrying to hide, my focus on the gun and its heaviness as I jam it harder against the man’s forehead.
