Chapter 28

I know we're in deep shit when the men continue towards us. We stand there waiting, and Jackson grabs my hand to pull me behind him as they get close.

"How cute. You've been hiding something from me I see." Jackson's dad shows no emotion as he stops a couple of feet away. I can feel Jackson's grip tighten on my hand as one of the goons comes closer.

"What are you talking about?" Jackson asks his father as he looks at me quizzically.

"Oh, you don't know?" His father smirks heavily, the expression not becoming upon his face. "Your little girly friend has been evading us for quite some time now. She even managed to take out a few of our men. Crafty little fox... but now there is nowhere left for her to run and hide." His eyes meet mine, psychotic disgust encasing his face.

I know Jackson is confused but there isn't any time for me to elaborate as his dad slowly comes closer to me. I don't see a way out of this for either one of us. His father comes up to me and twirls a strand of my hair that came loose from its signature braid. He leans down so close to me that I feel his breath fan across my face as he whispers to me.

"When you want things right, you just have to do them yourself," he chuckles, moving back slightly as I defiantly stare him down.

I won't let him have the satisfaction of thinking that I fear him. I've come way too far for that.

He turns to Jackson, "As for you, I'm sure some good old discipline will get you back into line. It will be just like old times, eh son?" Jackson stares at the ground in front of him, his grip on my hand bordering painful.

His father raises one hand to signal the goons and before we get a chance to act, one of them strikes Jackson on the back of the head with the butt of his rifle. His body crumples, his hand falling from my grasp. As I scream his name, I am struck in the same manner, darkness quickly overtaking the agonizing pain.

When I come to, I am bound once again, in the same room that I had shared with Mikayla previously. This time, I am alone. Just as my mind is beginning to clear, Jackson's dad strolls into the room, eyeing me with interest. Immediately, I am fueled with rage.

"Where is he?" I keep my voice as level as possible but the words that seep out are still laced with venom.

He grins at me, his teeth gleaming. "I'm so glad you asked. We can skip all of the pleasantries and get right to the point," he pauses. "It seems he was too far gone for discipline to straighten him out. I'm sure he has you to thank for that. You seem to have a knack for disrespecting authority," he pauses again, clearly enjoying the emotional turmoil that he is bombarding me with. "Unfortunately, we have no use for disrespectful brats. You would do well to keep that in mind little girl." He taps his temple and shoots me a smile before turning and exiting the room.

The door slamming echoes throughout the silence left behind. I can't stop the downpour of emotion that wracks my body. It's been a long time coming. The grief of losing my dog, family, home, Mikayla, and now Jackson is too much for me to power through any longer. My hope shatters in the form of violent sobs and hot tears streaming down my face. Then I scream. I scream for my lost loved ones and friends. I scream until no more sound pours from my depths, and all that I am left with is more pain. I lay on the ground, broken and dejected. I can't think of any reason to go on other than my fear of dying alone, hanging over me like a dark cloud of desperation. My family motivated me until I found them, but then I had Jackson and Mikayla. After I lost Mikayla, I still had Jackson, but now I am truly alone. Aside from these cruel assholes who keep prolonging my torture over a stupid grudge. It isn't my fault that they kept following me everywhere. Maybe if they had quit I wouldn't have had a chance to headbutt the shit out of them or smack them with a car. They brought it upon themselves if we're being totally honest. None of that matters now, though. I'm honestly lucky to have survived this long.

Once my tears have stopped and my pity party is over I start trying to think rationally. I'm taking slow, deep breaths and wracking my brain when I remember the knife in my bra that they haven't found yet, thankfully. The only problem now is the duct tape binding my hands behind me. Better tape than handcuffs again though. I pull my knees to my chest and try to maneuver my arms around to the front. My wrist is screaming from the last time this place fucked me over and it's more than enough to get my eyes going again. This way isn't happening so I get to work on repositioning. I move to my knees and lean forward, trying to keep my legs as folded as possible. A vile sound comes from my raw throat as I force my arms around my legs but then the pressure is gone as I roll to my side on the floor. I grab the knife from my bra and get it open, grasping it yet keeping it as hidden as possible before sitting against the back wall once more. Now, I just have to wait. Waiting seems to be a lot of what I do nowadays. My wrist throbs and is probably only going to keep getting worse at this rate without medical attention.