Chapter 16

Brea woke up with the headache to end all headaches, and she also woke up in Justin's room, beside Matt, with no notion of how she'd gotten there. Sitting up, she felt her head spin and her stomach churn dangerously. She placed her hand over her abdomen, as if that would hold back any potential puke that were to rise up.

Grimacing, she poked Matt, but he grunted and rolled over and promptly went back to sleep. Rolling her eyes, she left the room and went in search of others. The guest room across the hall was occupied—she could clearly hear giggles and voices—and considering Dana's little crush on the twins, she decided that her sanity would remain more intact if she didn't open the door.

She stumbled her way along the hallway, and found Justin sitting on his couch watching a football game on his small television. He looked up when she walked in, and for a few seconds, things were tense, because she could vaguely recall him making out with another girl in front of her. After that, her memory was wiped clean.

Brea wanted to be rude to Justin. She wanted to give him the cold shoulder, and let him know just how displeased she was with him—but of course, she wouldn't do that. Hadn't she told him the day before the party that he had no right to be mad over her and David? Her anger towards Justin was turning her into a complete hypocrite.

At the same time, she couldn't just act like nothing had happened. Her head was pounding, and she felt sick, and the last thing she was capable of doing was pretending to not care that Justin had locked lips with someone else.

"Can I have some water?" She asked, careful to keep her voice neutral, although it came out as more of a growl.

"Yeah—yeah, sure," Justin hurried out, hopping to his feet. He rushed to the fridge before she could move, and handed her a bottle of water. She cracked the lid open, and took a few deep swigs from it.

"Why am I here?" Brea demanded, leaning against the countertop. Justin ran a hand through his hair.

"You were really drunk last night. You were very…adamant on not going back home, in case your grandmother woke up. I told Matt you guys could crash here."

"Right," Brea said, setting the water down. "Well. Thanks for that. We probably should get going though. They're leaving tonight, and I could really use a shower."

She hadn't looked at herself yet, and really didn't want to. She knew that her makeup was probably everywhere, and that most of her hair had fallen out of its up-do. At least her dress was clean, and she didn't appear to have puked anywhere.

"Thanks for letting us crash here," she muttered, turned away from Justin. She felt his hand encircle her wrist, and jerked away from him like he was live wire.

"What?" She demanded, the word coming out harsher than she'd intended.

"Do you remember…I mean, last night, do you remember everything that happened or—,"

"Yes, I remember seeing you with that girl, if that's what you're referring to," Brea stated. "Sorry for coming back here. I must've majorly cock blocked you."

She left and, that time, he let her go. She pounded on the door of the guest bedroom.

"Dana, we're leaving," she yelled. The door opened, and not Dana, but Brad popped his head out.

"So soon?" He asked, grinning. Her expression must've been pretty dour, because he lost the smile and stepped out of the room. Thankfully, he was wearing boxers. She wouldn't have put it past him to step out naked.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"Nothing," she snapped. "Nothing is wrong, I just want to leave, so please, tell Dana that if she isn't out in ten minutes I'm not driving her back."

She turned and went into Justin's room, where she yanked the blanket off Matt.

"Come on," she said, pushing at his chest. "We're leaving. I'll be in the car."

She patted his pockets down until she found her keys, and stormed out of the room. Unsurprisingly, Justin was waiting to ambush her in the living room.

"Brea—,"

"Just—just leave me alone," she nearly yelled, shoving past him. "Go find whats-her-face and—,"

Justin grabbed her, and kissed her.

She slapped him across the face. He whirled back, cheek red, eyes wide, and they stared at each other for a few seconds before she pointed a shaky finger at me.

"Don't touch me," she said, stepping away from him.

"Why is it okay for you to be mad at me over some girl, but not for me to be mad over David?"

"Because it's different," she hissed. "I can't help that I love David. It just happened, and I wish it hadn't, but it did. What you did last night—,"

Oh no. She felt her voice growing thick. She should have just stopped then, but she had already started and the words just kept flowing from her mouth.

"You did it on purpose, because you wanted to get back at me," she said. "You looked right at me, and then you kissed her because you were angry, and hurt, and you wanted to hurt me too. Well, good job. You succeeded. Happy?"

She ran out before she could respond. Unfortunately, being incredibly hungover and maybe still a bit drunk along with impaired vision from crying made one clumsier than usual, and she tripped the minute she was on the driveway. She went down, hard, and felt the rough gravel tear up her knees and palms. Arms shaky, she pushed herself to her feet and looked down at the damage she'd issued upon herself. Blood trickled down her legs. She considered just getting into her truck, but knew that if she showed up covered in blood her grandmother would definitely have a fit.

Grinding her teeth together, she limped back into Justin's house. He was in the exact same position she'd left him in, as if he had yet to register what had happened.

"I need a bandage or two," she said. His eyes looked her over, and widened.

"What—,"

"I don't need you to talk to me," she said, running her palms under the tap. "I just need a few bandages."

Dana appeared then, looking very well put together, considering what she'd been doing all night.

"Geez," she said, looking Brea over. "You look like shit."

"Thanks."

Justin reappeared with a first aid kit. Dana looked between them.

"What was all the shouting about?"

"It doesn't matter," Brea said, hopping up on the counter.

"Sounded like it mattered—,"

"Just drop it, Dana."

She threw her hands up. "Fine."

Brea rubbed her temples. She should have asked for some aspirin as well, but she really didn't want to talk to Justin anymore. She started wiping the blood off her knees and legs. All the motion was not doing anything to help her head.

"Brea," Justin murmured, sidling in beside her. "Let me help you."

"I don't need you."

"You look like you're about to pass out. Just let me help. You don't have to talk to me."

She straightened up. The world span. Heaven's above, was she still drunk? She definitely felt like it.

"Just…just go," she murmured, covering her eyes with her hands.

"Brea—,
"I said go! Leave me alone!"

She started to hiccup. The tears were not far behind. Matt came in, then, auburn hair a mess, grey eyes alert despite Brea waking him up so suddenly.

"She asked you to leave her alone," Matt said. His voice was calm, very calm, but the already tense room became unbearably stuffy. Timber padded over from his spot on the couch, a low whine in his throat. Brea sniffled, and wiped her face dry.

"Let's just go," she said to Dana, who looked decidedly uncomfortable, and to Matt, who was eyeing Justin like he was a particularly gross slug. Matt walked past Justin, and took Brea's arm into his hand.

"Let me see," he murmured, nearly doubling over to appraise her.

"They're shallow. You'll be fine."

Then he plucked the keys from her hand. "But maybe I should drive."

He got in the car. Brea looked over her shoulder, and saw Justin leaning against the doorframe to his house. His eyes were unhappy. Brea quickly wiped her eyes dry, and turned back to her truck, where Dana and Matt were waiting for her.

"Bye, Justin," she muttered, more to herself than to him, before getting into her truck and slamming the door shut.


Pain. It was all David felt. All David had felt for the past…he wasn't too sure how long he'd been there for, in that dark, windowless room. It could have been days. It certainly felt like days. He shifted positions on the wet floor, and felt his back spasm as the not yet healed slash wounds on his back split open. He bit his lip until it bled to keep from shouting out, and tried to remain as still as possible.

He didn't know where he was. All he knew was that he was probably going to die in that room.

His brother had removed the arrowhead from his leg, but the wound still burned and throbbed, much like the rest of his body. How many punches had Aron, Dick, and Kane thrown at his face? How many lashes had they inflicted upon his back?

Sudden light, so bright and blinding that he covered his eyes with his forearm flooded the room. Blinking past the tears, his eyes adjusted enough for him to see not his brother or his friends, but his father in the doorway.

"Hey, dad," David lisped out, his lip too split for proper speech. "Come to join the party—,"

A sharp slap to the face silenced him. Markus leaned down over his son, face contorted in fury. He grabbed David's chin, igniting the bruises that he already had there, and creating some new ones.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Markus hissed, spit flying onto David's face.

"Sitting here."

Another slap, this one dizzying. David leaned heavily against the wall behind him, blinking back stars.

"Do you have any idea how much shame you've brought upon this family?" Markus whispered. David held back another retort. He didn't think he could stay conscious if his father hit him again. His ears were ringing as it was.

"And all for nothing, too. Did you think that we would let her live, after this?"

David ground his teeth together. "She has nothing to do with this—,"

Markus grabbed David's face in his hand, fingers in one cheek and thumb in the other. He slammed David's head back against the wall. David heard a sharp crack. Dark spots bloomed in his vision.

"She has everything to do with this," Markus snarled, roughly releasing David's face. David felt himself toppling over, and he couldn't move his arms fast enough to catch himself.

"If you actually do love her, you should have left her alone," Markus said, walking towards the doorway. "You've just made things worse for her. Your brother can be quite…"

Markus paused in the doorframe, and looked back at his son. "Creative."

Then he left, slamming the door behind him and plunging David into darkness once more.

His brain, his head, his…everything was throbbing. His body was telling him to sleep, to just shut his eyes and forget everything for a while. He gave in to the urge, and firmly shut his eyes.

Her face popped into his mind, like it always did. Brea.

She was going to die. She was going to die, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He curled in on himself, welcoming the pain in his beaten, raw back. He deserved it, because Brea was going to die, and it was completely his fault.


Brea was disappointed, but not altogether surprised to find David's seat empty in chemistry. His attendance record was definitely not spot on, and during Brea's month and a half in Vidor she'd seen his seat empty more times than it was full.

Sighing, she sat down, and propped her chin up on her hand. She was more disappointed than she might have normally been at his absence. She'd wanted to talk to him about the bonfire. About what little she remembered from the bonfire. Bits and pieces kept coming back to her, but one thing was absolutely certain. She had spoken to David. What they talked about, however, was a mystery to her. Something in her gut told her that it had been an important conversation.

Class passed by slowly. Brea didn't really pay attention, admittedly. She was quickly realizing that chemistry was not her strong point.

She hid out during lunch. With Matt and Dana gone, and her and Justin not talking, she was in a bitter mood and decided that sitting in the library with her food was a better option than sitting with her usual crowd and pretending to be fine.

Her phone buzzed when she was halfway through her peanut butter sandwich. Picking it up, she frowned at the unrecognizable number and answered it.

"Hello?"

Silence. A faint buzz on the other end, like a fan was on in the background. Brea was about to hang up when she heard a scuffle, and a faint groan.

"Hello?" She demanded. "If this is one of the twins, this isn't funny—,"

"Just me, darling," a voice drawled into the phone. Brea went cold, and rigid.

"Aron."

"I thought David might want to speak with you," Aron said. "But he's being pretty quiet."

Brea heard a thump, and a muffled, pained groan. She jumped to her feet, before quickly realizing that there was nothing she could do.

"What are you doing to him?" She growled. The librarian, who was stationed a few feet away, shushed her. Brea gathered her books in her arm, and nearly ran out of the library, sandwich half eaten and forgotten.

"Nothing he doesn't deserve," Aron said almost kindly, before Brea heard another, louder thump and an even louder cry. "Nothing compared to what I'll do to you, hun."

Brea walked outside of her school, into the dry Texan air.

"Is that what this is about?" She asked. "You want me? Fine. But leave David alone."

"Want to make a trade?" Aron asked. His voice was amused, and lazy. "You for him?"

"Yes," Brea said instantly. "Whatever you want. Just…let him go—,"

Aron began to laugh.

"You," he chortled. "Are so stupid. So weak, and pathetic. Rule number one, bitch. Love is a weakness. Isn't that right, David?"

Brea held her breath as laboured breathing filled her earpiece.

"Say something, little brother. I don't have all day."

A wheezing cough. Then,

"Brea, leave, get out of Vidor—,"

A sharp slap that made her cringe.

"That wasn't what we planned, now was it?" Aron's voice demanded from afar. When he spoke again, his voice was much closer.

"I have to go take care of my brother now, Brea."

"Where is he?" She cried. "Where do you have him?"

"See you soon."

A click, then the line went dead. She let out a hoarse yell, and pounded her fist against the brick exterior of the school wall, again, and again, and again—.

"Woah, hey!"

Strong arms held her own down, tight to her body. She struggled for a few seconds, before collapsing, her knees buckling.

"Shit, Brea," a familiar voice muttered as they struggled with her weight. She spun around, and looked up into the dark eyes of Kevin. At that moment, their past history was irrelevant.

"He has him, and it's my fault," she whispered, sinking into his chest. "It's my fault. It's all my fault. It's…it's…"

David was hurt, and it was her fault. David was gone, and it was her fault. David could be dead, or dying, and she couldn't help.

Vaguely, she was aware of Kevin talking to her but she couldn't respond. She couldn't focus on anything aside from David. David was hurt. David was gone. David, David, David.

A commotion broke her out of her reverie. Disorientated, she looked around. Why did Justin have Kevin by the collar? When had they even gotten into the school?

"What did you do to her?" Justin yelled, slamming Kevin against a row of lockers. People were watching, hoping for a fight. Brea looked down. Her hand was stinging. A lot. She raised is, and saw that her knuckles were raw and bloody. How had she not noticed the pain before.

She forced her body to move, to walk, and placed her good hand on Justin's shoulder.

"Stop," she said. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded small and weak.

"He didn't do anything," she said. "Leave him alone."

Justin dropped Kevin instantly, and turned to Brea.

"What happened?" He demanded, taking her face into his hands. "I saw him practically dragging you into the school…I thought you were drugged or—,"

"I'm fine," she said, cutting him off. "But…I might not be."

She turned back to Kevin. "I think you can help me."

Kevin shot Justin a hot look, before stepping closer to Brea. Justin shoved Kevin, hard.

"Close enough."

"Justin, please," Brea said, stepping around him. "Kevin—it's David. Aron has him somewhere. We have to help him. You…you know him better than anyone else. Is there anywhere they could be—,"

"Of course this is about David," Justin snapped, whirling on Brea. "Everything is, isn't it?"

She stepped away from him, his anger pushing her back.

"This is bigger than how I feel for him, Justin," she said quietly. "He could die, if I don't help him."

"So go to the police," Justin said. "Let them deal with it."

"You and I both know the police won't be any help," Kevin interjected. "The Marshall family has them in their pockets."

Justin ignored him, and took Brea's face into his hands.

"Listen to me, Brea," he said softly, his eyes pleading. "You can't win this. Not against them. You'll just get hurt, in the end."

"It's David," she whispered. "I have to try."

"No, you don't," Justin pushed. "Please. I—I'll take you away from here. Until this blows over. Or forever. Please. I love you, Brea."

The bell rang, causing bother Brea and Justin to jump in surprise. She stepped away from him, her body heavy.

"I do love you, Justin," she murmured. "But I have to help him."

With that, she turned back to Kevin, who looked more than a little uncomfortable at having witnessed the scene between Brea and Justin.

"Will you help me?"

He ran a hand through his dark hair, and nodded.

"Nurse's office first, though," he said, motioning towards her hand.

"I'm fine—,"

"You won't be if it gets infected. Come on. We'll leave straight after, I promise. There's a few places around here we can check out."

She let him take her arm, and tug her to the nurse's office. Impatiently, she waited as the nurse doused her hand in alcohol, cleaned the cut, and bandaged it.

"How'd this happen?" The nurse asked as Brea hopped down from the table.

"I fell."

"Landed on your knuckles?"

Brea shrugged, and left before more questions could be asked. Kevin was leaning against the wall outside the small room, and straightened up when he saw her.

"They have two cottages," he said. "One about an hour east from here, one an hour west. They use them when they go hunting."

"Well, Aron and Markus use them," Kevin said as they walked down the hallway. "David never had the stomach for hunting."

They took Brea's car. The first cottage was empty, and showed no signs that anyone had been in it recently. The second cottage, however, had a car parked out front. Brea killed the engine, and let her truck roll off to the side, where it was hidden behind the foliage.

"Someone's here," she murmured, removing her seatbelt. "I'm going to check it out."

"Are you insane?" Kevin hissed. "Whoever's in there has at least two guns, and probably won't hesitate to use them."

"I'll be quiet," Brea said. "And quick. You, get in the drivers seat in case we need a quick getaway."

"Brilliant plan, Nancy Drew," Kevin growled. Brea ignored him, and got out of her car as quietly as she could. She crept up to the cottage and made sure to keep low. She heard loud, boisterous voices coming from inside as she got nearer. When she was pressed against the wall, under a window, she was assaulted by a sharp, metallic scent that made her stomach uneasy. Slowly, she raised herself up enough so that she could see into the room.

Blood. It was everywhere. In pools on the floor, splattered against the walls. That explained the smell.

The source of the blood was sitting atop a table that was positioned in the centre of the room. A large buck lay dead, with his throat slashed and his eyes wide open. His killers were skinning him—or at least, that's what Brea assumed they were doing.

Brea recognized the two men. She didn't know their names, but she knew their faces. They were Aron's friends.

"What d'you think Aron'll do with him?" One of boys asked. Brea recoiled when she saw that his teeth were far pointer than any humans teeth should be.

"Kill him, eventually. But after he kills the nigger. He'll want David to see her die."

Brea's legs began to shake from the effort of remaining in a half crouch. She shifted slightly.

"She might leave town before Aron gets his hands on her. I know I would," said the second man. His teeth, while not pointed, were completely rotted. Brea didn't know which man's teeth disgusted her more.

"Nah, she won't," said pointy-teeth. Brea heard a wet, ripping sound and watched as the skin from the buck's shoulders to its flank fell to the floor, revealing bright red flesh and white tendons. Brea had never considered herself squeamish until then. "Didn't you pay attention to the video? She loves him."

They both laughed then. Brea furrowed her brow. What video?

Something hard and round pressed against the back of her head. She froze.

"Well, what do we have here?"

A gun cocked. Slowly, she turned around and saw two things simultaneously. She saw Markus, with a small revolver pressed against her forehead. Then, she saw Kevin swing a tree limb that was thicker than her thigh at the back of Markus's head. Markus let out a yelp, and crumbled, and that was when the two men inside the cottage became aware of what was happening.

"Hey!" Rotten teeth roared. Brea heard them running. Kevin grabbed her hand.

"Come on!"

Without thinking, she grabbed the gun out of Markus' hand and took off with Kevin. Kevin dove into the driver's seat, and started reversing before she was even fully in. She screamed when the windshield shattered, and ducked from the torrent of bullets that followed.

"Fuck!" Kevin yelled so suddenly that she screamed again. The car jerked to the side, and she saw that he'd been shot. She didn't have time to check and see if he was alright. Not if she wanted to get out of there alive. She leaned over, and took the wheel. Aron's friends were still chasing, still shooting.

"Put it in drive," she yelled. The truck screeched to a stop, Kevin shifted gears, then hit the gas. Brea jerked the wheel to the side, narrowly avoiding hitting a tree off the path and pointed them back towards Vidor.

They gunned it until they hit the freeway.

"Quick," Brea said, pulling over. "Switch with me."

Kevin was in bad shape. His white shirt was covered in blood, and his face was pale and clammy. She got out of her truck, ran over to the driver's side, and opened the door. He'd been shot in the left shoulder. She didn't know if it had hit his heart or not. They didn't have time to find out. She clambered over him, kicked his feet away from the pedals with her own, and drove to the hospital in his lap.

"Kevin?" She demanded. "Don't fall asleep."

She swore. They were at least an hour away from the hospital.

"If I weren't in so much pain," he gasped. "I'd probably be enjoying you on my lap way too much."

She told herself that he couldn't be that badly injured if he was still able to be a pervert. She broke every speed limit they passed, and made it to the hospital in forty minutes. A paramedic who was lounging around outside the front of the hospital, presumably on his break, helped get Kevin out of the car and into the hospital, where he was placed on a stretcher.

"Is he going to be alright?" She demanded of the same paramedic as Kevin was wheeled away. "He's going to be fine, isn't he?"

"You need help," the paramedic said gently, taking her arm in his hand.

"I'm…not hurt?"

It came out as more of a question than anything else. Brea's heart was pumping adrenaline through her body. She couldn't feel much of anything. Still, she let herself be placed in a wheelchair and brought to a hospital room. She let herself be placed on an operating table. She still felt nothing except numbness. People were around her, asking for her name. Asking what happened. Needles poked into her and her clothes were cut away from her wounds. Apparently she'd been grazed by more than a few bullets.

"Brea, can you hear me?"

A man's head loomed above hers. His face was covered from the nose down, but she recognized the voice. The same doctor who'd treated her the past few times she'd been at the hospital. The cute one.

"Is Kevin going to be alright?" She asked.

"He'll be fine," the doctor assured her. With that, she closed her eyes and let her mind simply…shut down.


Brea was getting tired of waking up in hospital rooms, and was even more tired of the cute doctor—whose name, she remembered, was Dr. Reed—poking at her.

"For the last time, I am fine," she said, leaning away from him as he prodded her head. He sighed, and stepped back.

"You've been through an incredibly traumatic event. You went through intense shock. You are not fine."

"I don't have time for this," she said. "And you have no idea what I've been through, but if you don't let me leave, things are going to get a lot worse for me, and for a bunch of people. Please. I have to go."

"You are not going anywhere," came a voice from the doorway. Brea looked over, and felt herself shrink.

"Oliver," she said meekly. He entered the room, arms crossed, face calm and impassive.

"Mind telling me why your car is covered in bullet holes?"