But I can barely even hear him.
All I hear are shrieks. Over and over.
Fight. Fight!
A girl with a picturesque face, glossy red lips, and black hair like a midnight sea comes to mind. A picture waved in front of me through the bars of what was once my home. My prison.
A prison I shared with her.
Her words ring in my ears.Please, I don’t want you to die.
As I gasp for air, I release the guard’s throat, and he drops to the floor.
Aurora.
My eyes flash with memories that pass me by in an instant.
Her father, strapped to a chair, me about to shoot him. Instead, I pointed my gun at the guards. At my owner.
I killed almost all of them.
Just so she could save her father, the man who never really loved her, and escape.
Is she alive?
My fist tightens at the idea that my owner and his henchmen could’ve hurt her while I was out.
Could’ve … killed her.
BEEP!
The loudness of the sound coming from beneath me pulls me from my thoughts.
“Where’s the goddamn backup?! I need help, now!” the guard below me says with a squeaky voice. And when my eyes fall on him, he drops the walkie-talkie and crawls away from me. “No! Don’t hurt me!”
Suddenly, more noise up ahead forces me to look up.
Five more guards enter the hallway, pointing their guns at me.
I remember this.
I remember this same scene happening mere hours or days ago in that same fucking warehouse where I made her run.
Only that time, it was my owner pointing his gun at me.
My hand rises to touch my back. A thick bandage covers my chest from front to back, circling me.
I’m sure the bullet went through. I can feel the stitches. The caked blood. The pain.
God, the burning pain, even now. It’s like a hot poker being shoved right into my open wound. All because ofthem.
I march forward, eyes homing in.
“Stop!” the guards yell.
Or what? They’ll shoot?
I’m alive.