Chapter Nineteen

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

*Not edited*Not proofread*

Chapter 19– Deranged, even:

Everything happens a lot faster than it seems to process in my mind. It doesn't take me long to figure out how to get out of the hold; normally I'd throw my head back in hopes to break their nose, however, they're taller than me so I'd just hit their chest. Kicking their legs from underneath them also isn't an option, seeing as they're standing with them wide apart.

Instead, I take their right arm and— admittedly with a lot of effort considering their grip is surprisingly fucking tight— I pry it off my left arm and bend their wrist at an angle until I hear a snap. It distracts them long enough for their hold to loosen and I'm able to use my arm to drive my elbow into their chest, causing them to be temporarily winded.

I spin around on my feet and take a step back so I'm able to get a good look at them.

It's a man— that much I can tell. His body is large and muscular, definitely strong, and I can tell he's tall even if he is hunched over slightly. His clothes are dark; black trousers with a matching shirt. His arms are bare, covered in tattoo's, and I wonder if he's unaffected by the cold or just impractical.

He has brown hair, but that's all I can see for the moment as I'm unable to get a look at his face until he lifts his head up. Once he does, he looks at me from under his eyelashes, dark eyebrows creased in rage and minor discomfort.

As soon as his eyes meet mine, I recognise him and take another cautious step back.

Had he been the ordinary, average American mugger, I wouldn't be so anxious. But the fact that he was most likely trained the exact same way I was, has me on edge— and rightfully so.

Anything that reminds me of the facility makes me feel extremely uneasy and defensive.

"You fucking bitch," Mac's guard seethes in anger as he slowly straightens himself up. I watch him with caution, my eyes scanning every part of his body for a possible weapon.

I notice a gun at the waistband of his jeans.

"You grabbed me from behind in an isolated park while it's pitch black. If anyone's a bitch, I'd say it's you," I snap back. "So I'm going to give you five seconds to start explaining before I snap your neck."

"I think it's you that needs to do some explaining," he spits out, advancing towards me. As soon as he's close enough, I kick my leg out and send a harsh blow to his abdomen and watch as he grips at the spot in pain. While he's distracted, I grab for his gun and point it towards him before he can stop me, distancing myself from him so he can't suddenly lunge forward and claim it back.

"I'm not fucking playing," I grit my teeth, taking the safety off. "So tell me what the fuck you want or I'll shoot your dick off with your own gun."

Smartly, he holds his hands up by his head, his palms facing me to let me know he's unarmed. I raise an impatient eyebrow and shift the gun, warning him to speed things along because I'm not one for patience.

"Did Mac send you?" I blurt, not actually giving him the chance to speak like I just commanded him to, my curiosity getting the better of me. I'm not meant to be doing the questioning, he's meant to be telling me the information I want to know willingly, but I really can't help myself.

"This has nothing to do with Mac," he replies gruffly, his response vague. If it's nothing to do with Mac, then there's only one other thing it could be.

But I pretend not to know what he's on about as I tilt my head. "Then what do you want?"

He lowers his arms and they hang at his side, his right wrist bent oddly, though he doesn't seem affected by it. But then again, if he was trained anything like I was, he knows how to mask the pain and shut it out. "My wrist," he starts off cryptically.

"I only just broke it," I shake my head almost unnoticeably.

He looks irked as he clenches his jaw. "My other wrist, you fucking idiot. The one with the tag number."

"What about it?" I ask, ignoring his comment. If I acknowledge the fact he just insulted my intelligence, I would've had to shoot him before I got my answers.

"You looked very interested in it," he scans me from head to toe.

My jaw ticks as I look away. "Is it illegal to show some interest?"

A scoff leaves his lips and my eyes dart back to him. "The way you reacted to us? The way you walk? The way you stand?" He shakes his head, unamused at my blatantly act of ignorance. "I know a subject when I see one. You're not very good at hiding it."

I'm stumped on what to say as I rack my brain for an answer. I can deny it, but I don't see where that would get me. I could admit it, but I also don't see myself getting very far with that option, either. "What's it to you?" I question instead, my eyebrows furrowing as I avoid answering. "Even if I was a subject, or whatever you just claimed I was, then it's still none of your business."

He lets out a laugh that makes my ears ring. He doesn't sound the slightest bit amused, nor does he sound mocking. It's just... evil. Disturbed. Deranged, even. "I'm not going back there," he shakes his head, his face taking on a crazy look that has the hairs on the back of my neck standing. I grip the gun tighter then, ready to shoot him if I need to. Fuck the consequences. "I'm not going back there," he mumbles again.

        "What's that got to do with me?"

        He laughs once more, but nothing's funny. "Everything. You'll send me back. I know you'll send me back," he accuses, crazed eyes staring at me with... craziness. He also looks scared— so fucking scared that it makes me wonder what the fuck happened to him and how he managed to get out.

        He's young; I'd place him at around twenty, maybe twenty-one. He has dark brown hair and deep brown eyes. Average in every sense of the word. Had I not seen the number on his wrist, I wouldn't have given him any thought; wouldn't have believed there was anything more to him than he displayed.

        I wonder if that's how I look.

        "I know they sent you," he carries on, his voice deep with a slight tremor. "But I'm not going back. I won't go back."

        "Do I look like the daily fucking mail to you?" I hiss at him sarcastically. "I'm not sending you anywhere, you crazy fuck."

        He shakes his head again, not believing my words. By the way he mutters to himself, his eyes not focusing on anything for too long, I know he won't believe anything I have to tell him. He has one thought in mind, and that's the one he'll stick to.

        "I know they sent you. I'm not going back."

        I ask myself how the fuck he went from kidnapper-crazy to deranged-crazy in just a matter of minutes as I continue to listen to him spout some bullshit that I'm going to take him back to the facility. He keeps telling me that I was sent by them; that I was going to take him back. I don't know why he thinks that, but when I try to ask, he doesn't answer, just acts like he can't hear me as he continues to ramble away.

        His paranoia projects itself onto me and I start getting even more anxious and fidgety. I need to know why he thinks I'm going to take him back, why he thinks I'm one of them. I need to know when and how he got out, who knows about him and how long he's been in North Carolina for.

        But I don't get the answer to those unvoiced questions as he pulls out another gun from behind him.

        I expect it. I'm not a fucking idiot as he so kindly insinuated and I knew that if he was trained anything like me, then he was likely to have another weapon within reach. So when he pulls the gun on me, his hands shaking as he tells me he's not going back, he won't let me send him back, I'm prepared to shoot him right in the centre of his large forehead.

        Only, he pulls he trigger quicker than I can and a bullet lodges itself into my arm. Due to his shaky movements and the angle he was aiming at, I get hit right in the inner part of my elbow, making my hand fall limp and causing the gun to drop on the floor. The wound is a through-and-through, and I can feel the back of my arm burning from the torn flesh of the exit.

A painful pressure goes up the entirety of my arm and I grit my teeth in annoyance. The last thing I need is a lecture from Jace and this is surely going to fucking get me one. "Nice one, prick. That's going to leave a fucking scar!" I seethe in anger, already feeling the headache that's going to come as soon as Jace see's me walk through the front door.

"It won't be a problem," he tells me calmly, not taking any notice of my displeasure. My arm still throbs in pain and I can feel a tingling sensation making it go numb. "You'll be dead before it can even stop bleeding."

He raises the gun and smiles widely, his teeth straight. He has smile lines that remind me of Zeke and forehead wrinkles that remind me of Gray. And yet, he's so different. So fucked up and crazy.

The facility really does change people, huh?

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," I retort, pulling out the gun in my waistband with my good arm. He see's my movements and once again fires his gun before I can fire mine, but I'm quick to move out of his way and the bullet barely grazes my bicep.

As soon as I pull the trigger of my own gun, the sound muted due to the silencer, I watch as he drops to his knees with the bullet lodged in his chest. He gasps for breath and I realise I've hit a lung. He'll be dead within minutes— maybe even seconds.

I walk up to him slowly, my left arm dipping blood onto the ground and leaving a trail of crimson in its wake. The man struggles for breath as he wheezes, and when I'm close enough to be standing over him, I notice the panic on his face, the fear in his expression.

Sucks to suck.

Or in his case: Sucks to be shot in the chest by a teenage girl and end up dying on the floor of a mini-humans playground with no one around you but your killer.

But to keep it short... sucks to suck.

"Does the facility know where you are?" I ask as I place my booted foot on his chest, keeping the pressure light. He doesn't say anything and it makes me clench my jaw. "Tell me and I'll call an ambulance so you won't die." I add a bit more pressure.

He shakes his head vigorously, "No! No. They don't know anything!" He rasps out, clearly in pain. His eyes are wide, holding that petulant look of hope that he may not die. But he will.

"How did you get out?"

"They rele-release us," he stutters out. "Sell us t-to people."

"What for? Who do they sell you to?"

"Different—," he cuts himself off with a large intake of breath. "Different people," he coughs out blood, his eyes rolling.

"What kinds of people?" I press more for an answer. "Hey— now's not the fucking time to go and die!" I shake his body with my foot.

"When— when's the ambulance coming?" He mumbles weakly, trying to look around but not having the strength to do so. "Don't— don't want to die."

"Well you shouldn't have tried to fucking kill me," I snap. "Now answer the question."

But unfortunately, he takes his last breath before he can get another word out.

___

Author's Note

Was you expecting that? I wasn't. What do you think? Too much? Or had it been a long time coming?

What do you think will happen next? Let me know in the comments. It's not that great because it was kind of rushed, but I have a lot of things to be doing, so I just wanted to get this out. I can always go back and edited it later.

Also, I can't believe we're almost at chapter 20 already! I feel like it took me ages in Book 1 to get to the 20th chapter and now here we are in just a couple of months. 1/3 of the way through!

And, I just wanted to say... if you ever come across a part in the story and it seems kinda out of the blue, then it probably is. This is obviously the first draft of this book (same with #1) and as I go along I want to add bits into it. It may seem like it's coming out of nowhere to you guys who have been here from the start, but it will make sense to people who start reading after the changes have been made, you know?

So I do apologise for any inconsistencies, plot holes or new information that just gets chucked in there without any previous mention. Just keep in mind that the book is changing (only ever so slightly) as I write and it won't always make sense or it may seem random. Once everything is set and complete I will go back and edit, and add things in that I may have left out or decided to add later on.

So basically, I'm sorry for you guys who have been here since the very start and have to make do with the crappy, inconsistent and slightly confusing draft, but you are all very appreciated!

You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net