Page 57 of Requiem & Reverie

“You come here looking for something, pretty mouse?” The one standing before me leans forward and sniffs my throat. “You smell damn good.”

“I want my son!” I mumble behind the hand of the one holding me captive. In an awkward curl of my hand, I try not to draw too much attention, as I snake my fingers into the pocket of my jeans for my knife.

“What’s that?”

The hand lowers just enough to let me suck in a breath of air. “I want my son.” Fingertips make contact with the folded knife, and I drag it against my hip, drawing it up into my palm.

Licking his lips, the man in front smiles. “I’m afraid I don’t have your son. But I’ll sure enough help you make a new one. How’s that sound?”

“Man, that’s fucked up.” The amusement in the voice of the man behind me grates on my spine, and without warning, I snap my head back, drawing my knife out of my pocket.

“Awww, fuck! My nose!”

His grip only loosens slightly, and I bring my hands together to flip the blade out. Striking out, I get one smooth cut across the bicep of the one in front of me, but not before he slams his palm into my throat.

The knife falls from my grasp, clapping against the floor.

“That wasn’t very nice, mouse,” he grits out, twisting his arm to show me the blood oozing through a tear in his shirt, and the other male digs his nails into my side. “You tried to cut me?” Eyes on me, he lowers himself just enough to pick up my knife and twists the blade in mocking. Propping it beneath my chin, he smiles.

The one behind me slams his knuckles into me in a painful blow that knocks the breath out of me.

“Fuck!” I coil into my side to loosen his grip and tears form in my eyes.

“You got a dirty mouth. How ‘bout I cut out that tongue?” His palm moves to my jaw, and he holds me steady as he leans in, dragging his wet, sticky tongue over my sealed lips. “I like the way you taste.”

“Leave her alone.” The familiar voice hits me from the right, and the stranger in front of me snaps his attention that way.

With the loosening of his grip, I turn to see Simon standing in the doorway, the barrel of a gun pointed toward the man.

It doesn’t make sense why he’s here, but I don’t care, given the circumstances. Maybe the bastard followed me. The point is, someone stopped this shitshow from happening.

“Well, if it isn’t Clark fucking Kent coming to save the day.”

“Let her go, or I’ll splatter your brains across the wall.”

A wave of relief moves through me at the sound of his cheesy words, and I steal the opportunity to wriggle myself loose.

Wiping tears from my cheeks, I rush toward Simon, who pulls me against him. Out of harm’s way, once the fog inside my head clears, the true oddity of Simon’s presence finally hits me. That he found me in this remote place.

I take a step back, frowning. “Simon, what are you doing here?”

It suddenly occurs to me that Dale might be dead.

The stranger who licked me bursts into laughter and sets his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “Splatter your brains across the wall. That’s good.”

Simon sneers and shakes his head. A loud pop follows, echoing through the garage, and the man who held his hand over my mouth slaps that same hand to his arm, wailing in pain.

“You fuckin’ shot me!”

“I told you not to touch her that way.”

The one named Duane, who I managed to cut earlier, cocks a shotgun and aims it right at Simon. “That’s gonna cost you extra, asshole,” he says.

“I’d say we’re even now.” Lowering his gun, Simon ends the standoff between them, and the other man follows suit, lowering his rifle, as well. “I specifically asked you not to touch her.”

“You didn’t say she was fucking hot, though. I’d have let you keep your damn cash, had I known.”

The cold numbness from before wraps around my lungs like a tight fist, as realization dawns on me, and I spin toward the door, but at something jabbing me in the back, I freeze.