Page 188 of Split You Open

I’m not sure why I’m baiting this man.

It could be to keep from freaking out. Dixie’s about to show up and I’m unable to do anything to stop him from hurting me. All the training I’ve ever gone through with Dad doesn’t feel like enough now. How am I supposed to face this nightmare that’s about to unravel in my current condition?

And how am I supposed to accept the inevitable death that’s to follow?

The man scoffs before he flicks his cigarette at me. It lands on my arm. I bite back a hiss of pain as I’m burned. As I wiggle to get it off me, the man laughs and saunters out of sight.

As the cigarette falls away, I suck in a deep breath. Holding it, I try to push through the fog still clinging to my head to figure out a way out of this. First, I need to get out of these binds. I can’t run or fight like this.

I know what I need to do.

Letting go of that breath, I brace myself for pain.

I curl into a ball—choking on a cry of agony as every jostle sends shooting pain throughout my entire body—and bring my arms down in an attempt to pull my feet and legs through. Sweat beads on my forehead and drenches the front of my shirt. It mixes with the dried blood, causing the material to be tacky against my skin. It takes a bit of finagling, but I manage to bring my arms around so that my hands are in front of me.

I take a second to catch my breath and for the pain to subside.

It doesn’t.

My vision blurs and for a moment, I think I’m going to pass out. The world starts to go dark and my body goes slack. As I slip away, I think of my guys. Wes, Santi, Rhett, and Ledger… I need to see them again. I just need one more second with them.

Which means I don’t have time to fucking pass out.

I suck in another deep breath and force it out. With it, I force away the darkness creeping into my vision. When the near-fainting spell passes, I bring my wrists up to my mouth and start to gnaw on the rope.

I have to get out of here fast. Once I’m free, I’ll find my way back to everyone and we’ll finish Dixie once and for all.

I’m not going to die today.

After all that I’ve been through, I deserve to find happiness with Ledger, Rhett, Santi, and Wes. My time with them was some of the best of my life. I’m going to fight until the very end.

My heart quakes in my chest as doubt threatens to squash my determination.

What if, despite all the fighting, I don’t make it? If that’s the case, I’ll never be able to savor the dark and twisted affection I share with my godfather, Ledger. I won’t be able to lean on Wes and simply relax, knowing that he has everything covered. There won’t be another moment where Santi says the most outrageous thing that’ll make me laugh. And I won’t be able to savor the quiet, thoughtful moments with Rhett ever again.

They’ve all taken a piece of me and now, without them, I ache.

Even with all the bumps, bruises, scratches, and bullet holes; their absence hurts more than any of that. Taking a breath feels hollow and each beat of my heart feels ineffective without them nearby.

Maybe, if I do die here—wherever here is—I’ll live on through them? They carry a piece of me, don’t they? Maybe that will be enough to hold us all together in an eternal way?

The thought is morbid and doesn’t bring me any peace. Pushing it away, I gnaw harder and faster on the rope.

I’m just starting to make progress when I hear a door open and then shut.

Shit. My time’s up.

Swallowing down the rising panic, I brace myself for what comes next now that Dixie has arrived.

A man in his late forties comes around the car, well dressed and smiling pleasantly. His hair is short and styled nicely, his suit is obviously expensive, and as he lifts his hands to adjust the sleeves of his jacket, I catch sight of flashy gold cuffs.

I’m not sure who I was expecting. Maybe someone like Dad, cold and aloof. But this man whose smile is oddly bright, is not it.

“Good afternoon, Blair. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” He lowers his hip to rest on the lip of the trunk of the SUV. “My name is Arnon Dixon.”

I’m not quite sure what to do here.

Do I entertain conversation with him? Do I taunt him like I had his foot soldier? Or should I stay quiet and reserved. This man is going to kill me—maybe I should play nice? Mentally, I grimace. The thought of being nice to the man who’s been after me and Dad for the past month and a half physically makes me ill.