Page 12 of Sweet Vengeance
It feels like my body is on fire. Like my stomach explodes when a foot sharply stabs into my gut.
I’m going to die out here. They’ll kill me, and probably the other man too, all because I wasn’t good enough. Because I wasn’t smart enough or strong enough.
Blood runs into my eyes. I taste it and tears on my tongue, just before I hear, “Hey! Stop that! What are you doing?”
Something else rams into my head, and just before my world goes black, I see an image of my dad. This is going to kill him. It’s my last thought before my world goes black.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cillian
“Why in thefuck is Ollie calling me so late? We’ve only ever texted.” Dean stares at his phone before answering. “Hello.”
He frowns, and Tiernan sits up straighter as if he can read Dean’s expression and knows something’s wrong.
“Ollie?” he says, then, “What the fuck is going on? Answer me.”
“What is it?” I ask, nerves making my skin prickle uncomfortably.
Tiernan tries to take the phone from him, but Dean doesn’t let him. He holds it out and hits the speaker, the sounds on the other end very fucking familiar.
Someone is being hurt. When Ollie’s familiar voice cries out, red flashes in my eyes, my whole body tensing.
“Who the fuck is there? Don’t you fucking touch him. I’ll kill you if you touch him,” Dean seethes into the phone, his rage sharp enough to slice through me.
The sounds of flesh on flesh are clear, gasping and pain coming from Ollie. I shove to my feet as if that will change anything.
“Where is he?” I ask, my voice tight. I open and close myhands into fists, dying to get my hands on whoever is hurting him.
“How the fuck should I know?” Dean barks at me.
“Fucking find him,” I snap. That’s what he does. He knows how to do that shit.
“Hey. Watch your mouth when you’re talking to him,” Tiernan warns.
“Fuck you.” It’s not often I say shit like that to Tiernan, but what are we supposed to do? Sit here and listen to whoever this is kill Ollie? He’s too good for this, for us, and all I can think is, maybe this is happening because of his friendship with Dean. Maybe this is our fault.
“Hey! Stop that! What are you doing?” breaks through the phone, and all of us still.
There’s a lot of yelling, feet hitting pavement, the sound of a car starting, then screeching tires as it peels away.
“Oh shit. Hang on, buddy,” a guy’s voice says.
“Where are you? What’s going on?” I shout, hoping that whoever is there can hear me. If he can, he doesn’t say anything. The sound of his voice gets farther away and harder to make out, but there’s mumbling in the background.
He must be getting closer to the phone because I hear, “I called 911. They’re on the way.”
Dean pulls away from me. “Pick up the fucking phone!” he shouts, sounding like he’s hardly holding on to control.
There’s a rustling sound, then, “Hello?”
“That’s my friend. He called before he was attacked. Where are you?” Dean asks.
“At the pharmacy on Eastman,” the guy says.
“Is he conscious?” Dean asks while putting on his shoes.
“He seems to be coming around.”
