Unleashed: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance Part 62

"No!" Fallon yells, but it's too late. Pierce brings his leg down hard on Fallon's thigh. I see the leg bend grotesquely before I hear the flesh-dulled snap of his femur.

Fallon mewls out in agony, grips onto his leg with wide, terrified eyes.

"f.u.c.king told you I'd break it," Pierce snarls. He shoots toward the Russians on the other side. They hit the deck again. He rubs the grip of the gun hastily on my s.h.i.+rt, then tosses it, and grabs my hand again.

We run toward the large shutter-doors, but on the way Pierce pulls me to the side.

"Look away," he says, and I do, and moments later I hear the sound of shattering gla.s.s.

Fire alarms scream to life.

There's screeching grinding, metal on metal. The whole building rumbles. Heavy steel doors begin to lower from the roof. I look at them, confused.

"Come on," Pierce huffs, and he tugs me forward again. The doors closing from the ceiling seem like blast-doors. They're obviously designed not just to keep everything out, but to keep everything in.

It clicks in my head. This is a chemical plant! These are security measures to prevent outside contamination. It's containment.

"Faster!" he roars, tugging me harder. I run as fast as my feet will take me, but we're still so far away from the big doors.

"Come on, Pen!" he yells, and I try, but I'm at the edge, and if I attempt to go faster I might just fall.

The blast doors are shutting down fast, and I will myself, force myself to run faster. I was never a quick runner, I was never good at sports, but I push, I push, f.u.c.k if I push.

"Yes!" I cry as I clear the doors ducking. Just milliseconds later, and we'd have been crushed at the hip. They slam shut hard, shaking the ground beneath my feet. The whole plant must be in lockdown. Fallon, the Russian mobsters, they're stuck inside.

I turn to Pierce, look up at him, and that's when I see his face is completely red. The cut on his head has opened even wider, and it's just pouring a torrent of blood out.

"Oh no," I groan, and I want to tell him, but he looks away, tugs me again, and we're running again, this time toward the collection of parked cars. They're all expensive, all completely conspicuous.

Mobsters.

"Which one?" I say, breathless.

"They wrecked my car," Pierce growls. "Take the best one."

Chapter Thirty Six.

Mercedes... BMW... Jaguar... Maserati... it's a tough choice.

"Come on!" Penny screams. "Who f.u.c.king cares which car we take?"

In the distance, red lights flash. No doubt they are fire engines.

"The Jag!" I say, and run to the door. I look inside. "f.u.c.k, no keys."

"Here!" Penny yells. "This one has keys." She's standing by the BMW, and I run to her, climb in. She gets in with me. I start the car, tear out onto the road.

We pa.s.s fire trucks that wail past us. They are followed by ambulances and... police cars.

"Why are the police going?" she asks.

"That was an old fight site. They must have been watching it. Fire alarms go off, they think a fight is going down and someone started a fire by accident."

"We're lucky they didn't stop us."

"Penny, are you hurt?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Check! Those bullets you fired ricocheted."

She pats down her body, then shakes her head. "No."

Thank f.u.c.k.

Blood is streaming into both of my eyes.

I try to blink it out, but it's no use. "Pen," I say. "I have to stop. Hold on." I pull the car over, and then lift my foot up and tear a small piece of tape from my ankle. It's still sticky as f.u.c.k; the heat from my body has melted the glue.

"Here," I say, handing her the piece of tape. I lean forward, wis.h.i.+ng I could see her more clearly. But she's just a blurred, red outline.

"You want me to tape your cut?"

"Yeah," I say. "Wipe the blood away with your sleeve, and then put the tape over the cut."

"My sleeve is not clean. You might get an infection."

"I need to stop the bleeding," I say. "Hurry up."

She nods, and moments later my forehead is burning as she wipes across the split skin.

"Oh my G.o.d," she says, swallowing. "I think I can see your bone."

"Tape it!'

She places the tape over the cut, and I whip my head back, lean it on the car seat. I press the tape into the cut as hard as I can with my palm, wincing.

I turn to her, and grin. "Good, because the last mile I drove I couldn't see s.h.i.+t."

"You're pretty messed up."

I grunt. "Figured out where we are?"

"What?" she cries, putting up her hands. "How would I know, I barely just got to Australia!"

"Alright, alright," I say, looking around. To the right there's cliff faces, and no doubt beyond is the sea. It's flat blackness is unmistakable.

"So?"

"I think we're a little past Geelong."

"Where's that?"

"City nearby Melbourne."

"Is it far?"

"No," I say. I turn to her, take her hand. There are deep scratches on her palms. "What happened?"

"I had to cut my hands to cut the zip tie."

That's when it happens, that's when there's a crack, a breach. It's not loud, it's not dramatic, but for a fleeting moment her face is bunched up in a perfect split, simultaneously laughing and crying.

And then it's over, seconds later, and she's sobbing into her hands. I grip her, pull her toward me, hold her against me, and smell her hair and kiss her head.

"f.u.c.k you, Pierce," she cries. "I hate you."

"I know," I say.

"I really do!" she says, leaning up and smacking me on my chest. "G.o.d d.a.m.n it. You need a doctor. Where's the nearest hospital, I'll drive us there."

"You don't have a license here. If we get pulled over in a stolen car, then-"

"Do you have a f.u.c.king license on you?" she cries, and gestures at me. I realize I'm just wearing my shorts.

We swap sides, and as she's about to put the car into gear I say, "No, wait. We can't go to a hospital. They'll report us. They have to report these kinds of things."

"Then where?"

"Hold on." I look around, spot the car phone, and pick it up. "Yes! We have signal." I punch in a number, and moments later a familiar voice floods the receiver.

"Ricky," I say. "It's Pierce. Don't talk, just listen. Remember that doc, the one with the big nose? Didn't he help patch you up? Yeah? What's his number? Don't ask me why, just tell me. You sure? Alright, thanks. No, can't talk about it."

I hang up, and dial the number.

"Doc, it's Pierce. I need your help, where can I go? Where's that, Caroline Springs? Okay. No, it's close. When I get there, don't f.u.c.king call me 'son'."

I throw the phone down, and tell Penny to take the next exit. "And stick to the left," I say. "We drive on the left here."

"Who is Ricky?" she asks a moment later.

I sigh, and pinch the bridge of my nose. Blood is beginning to pool beneath my foot. My whole body hurts to h.e.l.l.

"He was eighteen, needed money. Good body, strong, athletic, but no fighter. You're right, he went crying to his mother. He was raising money for her. She's disabled."

"What?" Penny asks.

I grimace at the memory. "Four fractures in his face. Edema in his ear ca.n.a.l that was pus.h.i.+ng into his brain. He almost died."

"Jesus."

"He stepped into the cage."

"You do care, don't you?"

I lick my lips. "He stepped into the cage."

"But you keep in touch with him?"

"Yeah," I say. I look at Pen. She's looking at me different, like she's surprised.

"So all your bulls.h.i.+t what goes on in the cage stays in the cage c.r.a.p was a lie. The consequences do matter."

"I don't want to get into this, Pen."

"Fine," she says. "But is that all you do? Keep in touch?"

"No," I tell her. "I help out financially, pay for his mother's rehab. She's learning to walk again."

I see just the tiniest glimmer of a smile on her lips. She almost looks... relieved.

Who the h.e.l.l did she think I was? The devil?

Chapter Thirty Seven.

Three weeks later...

"Where the h.e.l.l is he?" Dad asks. He's nervous. There are beads of sweat on his forehead, and he wipes his upper lip. "d.a.m.n it, he's late. Everybody is seated."

"I don't know!" I hiss. I suddenly feel awkward and defensive. Does Dad... know?

"You haven't been in touch with him at all?"