CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

JAGGER

Erik runs the barrel of his gun along the growth on his chin as if he’s thinking. I wish he would accidentally shoot himself, but unfortunately he doesn’t.

“Change of plans,” he calls out, and then starts talking under his breath. I have no idea what he is saying because it’s all unintelligible.

“I’ll let her down, then tie you to the chair, and she watches you die. If she tries to save you, she dies.”

Her eyes widen, and her right leg slides off the chair. I stop breathing as the chair wobbles from side to side, before she rights it by putting her foot back on the seat. Jesus fucking Christ. I’m going to die from a goddamn heart attack before he gets near me.

I have no choice but to agree with him. There’s no way I’m going to sit here while he lets her hang to death.

“Fine. She’s going to keep her distance, and not intervene.”

Gazing across the room at her, I notice the tears are falling faster now, and I feel sick that I could’ve prevented this from happening, but I chose wrong. And now this is going to be the last memory she has of me.

He climbs onto the stage, and then gets on a chair and undoes the rope, and clearly the point is to cause us both pain, because she falls to the ground with a thud, hitting her head on the now toppled over chair.

She gets up, and he gets off the chair he was standing on.

“Sit and watch the show, pig.”

I clench my fists, because nobody fucking talks to her like that, but of course, I can’t do a damn thing about it. Hurry up, Jett. I should’ve told him twenty minutes.

McKinley sits in the chair, and stares at me with the saddest expression I’ve ever seen on her face. Even in the hospital, after trying to take her life, she didn’t look this lost. With Erik’s back to me, I mouth to her, ‘I love you. It’s going to be okay.’

Even I don’t believe my words, and it’s clear she doesn’t either.

Erik grabs the rope and walks over to me. I don’t bother fighting him, because I can’t risk him hurting her. So I place my hands behind the chair. He ties the rope around my chest to my back, and then loops more rope around my wrists, and back up and over my chest again.

He walks away to the side of the stage and comes back with a bat.

“Does she know the violence you’re capable of? I bet not.”

“No.”

He chuckles. “Oh? So she doesn’t know this is all your fault?”

“No,” I repeat.

Turning to McKinley, he enlightens her. “Your asshole boyfriend beat me with a bat. It seemed fitting to do the same thing to him. An eye for an eye, but I won’t allow him to live. I’m smarter than that.”

She hangs her head down with such despair. Despair I caused.

“Look at your boyfriend. Watch how tough he is now.”

He swings it back like he’s playing baseball and hits my stomach, the bile instantly rising in my throat and burning.

That’s not the worst part, though. It’s her screaming my name, and I can no longer bear to look at her. It hurts far more than a bat to the gut.

“Do you know why, McKinley? He read our text messages.”

I hate this fucker. He is trying to make it sound like I’m the asshole boyfriend, but reading her messages wasn’t intentional. And they weren’t just messages. They were more of his fucking vile nonsense. The only purpose was to hurt her.

He walks around to my back, hitting the bat on the floor repeatedly, trying to scare me but it won’t work, because I don’t give a fuck about myself. I can’t see him, but I glance up and see McKinley trembling with fear, as she sits with her hand over her mouth.

“Should I hit him here?” he asks as he presses the bat through the wood slats on the chair and into my back. The chair has one slat on each end. The middle two are missing, so I don’t expect this wooded piece of garbage to last long.

“Or should I hit him here?” he pushes the bat into the back of my head.

If he goes for my skull, it’s probably over. As much as it hurts to look at her, I do, because she’s the last fucking thing I want to see when I leave this life.