5. Ash

Chapter Five

ASH

T he taste of freedom was dry and nauseating.

I did not know how long it had been since I had managed to break free. I had hit the concrete and had not stopped since.

Darkness still shrouded me, and I had long since left the comforting surrounds of housing behind. Open land stretched far beyond me on either side, and the road was empty, stretching far into the distance, not a landmark in sight. Trees scattered across the horizon, but other than that, there was little way to know where I was.

Except that I was not in Fellpeak.

The surrounding area was similar, but I had grown familiar enough with that place that I knew this was not it.

I paused, my legs burning and my head spinning. Bile sat at the back of my throat, and my pounding head threatened to drop me to the floor. It was heavy, and I was weak. Even as my knees dropped against the hard tarmac, I couldn’t care.

“Fuck,” I hissed, pressing my forehead into the cool, rough feel of the ground. Loose stones and debris pressed into my skin, but it only served as a distraction. “I need a drink.” I slowed my breathing, focusing on the rise and fall of my chest, mentally trying to stop myself from vomiting.

I could not count on my fingers how many hours had passed since I had last had a stiff drink pressed to my lips, but I was feeling them. It was not so bad at first; a hangover gripped me when I woke, but it was only a mild headache. Now, it was way worse.

I was not unaware of my addiction. My body had become accustomed to a drink, and my hands felt empty without a bottle. At first, it was to calm my thoughts and to sleep. But sleep came in fits and bursts, and the thoughts would always wither back in.

Drinking just helped avoid them. My mind had already begun to whisper. Its devilish whispers were taunting and cruel.

Give up.

Murderer …

I gathered my meagre strength and pushed my feet back underneath me, the ground tilting below. My hand clasped over my mouth as my stomach rushed into it.

Die.

I choked, bile spluttering through my fingers, my strength sapped out again as the contents of my stomach ejected onto the road.

“No.” I retched, trying to catch my breath. “Shut up. I won’t listen to you.”

The ground vibrated beneath my hands and knees, and a distant rumble grew louder and louder. Something was approaching, and I was in the middle of the road. I could only pray they would see me, for my body had no strength left to move.

Or perhaps it would hit me.

I wanted it to.

Monster …

White light burned across the concrete, and my eyes stung at the intensity of the headlights.

You think you can get away with this—

The voices screeched louder and louder, a ringing bouncing through my skull.

You’ve killed a person. You cold-blooded mur—

Heat burned against my arm, and I screeched.

“ LET ME GO!” My body threw itself back with what little power it could, twisting away from the scalding touch.

The concrete hit the back of my head before I knew what was happening. A misty white light filled my vision, and the dark sky swam above my head.

“Ash,” a distant, distorted voice murmured. Two hands wrapped around my face, their touch like a stinging burn. “Ash, calm down.”

“Get off me,” I growled weakly.

“Look at me.”

My vision refused to focus, but I saw the light cut away and a dark shadow loomed over my head. Hands pulled me upright, and the dark sky vanished, a wavering face filling my vision.

“Look at me.”

“I know who you are,” I hissed, wanting to push him away, the brown of his eyes reaching through my blurred vision. “Let me go.”

Bile rose again, the acid burning my throat. I gagged, and Lamb tilted me forwards, a hand pressed against the centre of my back. I coughed and retched, but nothing came.

“You’re in withdrawal.” Lamb’s voice was firm. His hand pressed against my forehead, and my sensitive skin screeched.

“Stop”—I took a deep breath—“touching me.”

“You have a fever.”

“No shit …” I breathed again, trying to calm the flips in my belly. “Sherlock.”

I swear I heard him laugh.

“Now let me go.”

“You’re in no state to be alone,” Lamb said, and one arm wrapped around my back whilst another slid beneath my knees.

“I am in no legal state to be kidnapped either.” My stomach roiled and, against better judgement, I clung to the arm holding me up as my stomach lurched and a dry heave choked through my throat.

“It’s not kidnapping.” Lamb chuckled, jostling me against his body. “I’m rescuing you.”

“I am not a damsel”—I paused, nausea rolling through me—“in distress.”

“No”—Lamb’s fingers pulled back my hair, careful not to touch my skin—“you’re not.”

The sight of concrete was growing tiresome as I threatened to spew all over it for the umpteenth time. I had no strength to look up, but I knew the face he would be making. Something about how he spoke was like he disagreed with his own words on some level, but the energy I had left to fight was sapping further away from me.

I didn’t want to be rescued, or kidnapped, or whatever else he wanted to call it. I just wanted to be left alone. If I became roadkill or starved in a ditch, that was fine.

But just like any other time, I had no strength to make that choice.

My eyelids grew heavy, and the beat of Lamb’s breaths rocking with my body began to croon the darkness in. My throbbing head grew heavier until I could no longer hold it up. Lamb’s arm braced against me, and his hand soothed over my back.

“I don’t want to go back,” I murmured so low and quiet that I doubted he had even heard.

The sound of a second engine grew in the distance, but I was already sinking, knowing where I would wake up and who would be by my side.

Escape was futile.

G reen eyes were a fresh surprise.

A sharp prick dispelled some of my sleep haze as my visitor pierced a needle into my arm.

“Good morning,” Mint’s rough and tired voice greeted me. He stared down at my face, and his wide calloused hands were warm around my wrist.

“Not exactly,” I grumbled, my throat dry and my head heavy, like gravity had doubled during my sleep. My head floated like a bobbing on the surface of water and tiredness still clung to my awareness. “I feel strange …” I tried to sit up, but my body was too burdensome, and the effort was wasted.

“I wouldn’t bother.” Mint released my hand and tucked it under the blanket. “You’re probably feeling quite drowsy right now.”

I tracked the tube he had attached to my arm, slipping out beneath the sheets and up to the bag hanging from the bedpost. “What did you give me?”

“That?” Mint followed my gaze, leaning back into the plush armchair pressed up to the side of the bed. He had a book in his hand and a pen perched betwixt his fingers. “It’s just glucose.”

I frowned, and Mint seemed to read my thoughts. “I’ve just given you something to minimize alcohol withdrawal symptoms.” He looked back down at his book, his pen scribbling something. “It’s a type of tranquiliser.”

“Oh.” I sighed, sinking further into the bed. I looked around the room, figuring roughly what had gone on during the time I had been passed out.

The room, from what I could make out, was wide and empty. Once again, a page had been taken from the IKEA catalogue with matching furniture, muted warm tones, and sparse accent decorations. I wasn’t sure who he was trying to impress; I wasn’t fully blind yet, but my vision had deteriorated over the years, thanks to previous trauma. I got by well enough, but I’d admit that the interior décor was wasted on me.

Still, no matter how pretty it was, everything screamed new and unused. For a house, it felt rather unlived. I hadn’t expected anything less.

It was Lamb’s house, after all.

“At least I’m not in the basement.” I sighed, looking over to the sheer curtains covering a wide, bright window. The lighting was dim, but daylight still crept in, brightening the room with a warm glow.

“Yeah, I saw that.” Mint chuckled, the noise unfamiliar from his usual grumpy demeanour. He was gentle underneath, from what I had seen, back before my (semi-self-imposed) banishment from the club.

He had not changed much visually. Mint had cropped hair, a stiff, upright posture, and disciplined muscles. Everything about him screamed Army. Although many had been welcoming to Mint, I noticed that he did not often seek others’ company. He was a lone wolf. Or he tried to be. Company always seemed to have a way of finding him, even if he did not wish for it. That was just how Fellpeak was.

“Glad someone finds this amusing,” I grumbled, forcing my fingers and toes to wiggle. They moved beneath the sheets, and I was relieved at the sight. I did not know what dose I had been given, but at least it was not enough to paralyse me.

“You’ve been out for a few hours.” Mint ignored the comment. “The effects will wear off soon, and your symptoms will relapse.” He closed the cover of his notebook, turning his head up to meet my eyes. “You should consider detoxing. Long-term effects of excessive drinking can and will cause neurological issues later down the life. You’re young; don’t ruin your future.”

I laughed. The noise was ugly and bitter. “ My future ?” I scoffed before a twinge of guilt hit the brakes. “Sorry—”

“It’s okay.” Mint waved me off. “I get it.”

His interaction timer must have rang as he tucked the notebook under his arm and, without another word, walked out of the room.

I stared at the empty doorway, feeling the tiniest spec of guilt chewing through whatever tattered organ was left in my chest. Of all the bullets to have hit me, you had to have expected at least one to puncture my heart, but nope, the toxic, bitter muscle still pumped, and here I was, being a dick to a man who had only ever offered help, no judgement. Unlike his brothers, I liked Mint. He had an intense pain in his eyes that reflected my face, and for some sick and twisted reason, I appreciated it.

I was left alone with my thoughts for no less than a heartbeat before I felt him. Goosebumps pricked my skin, the tingling sensation of his gaze sending a chill running down my spine. My, surprisingly, intact survival instinct flared at his presence.

“Is kidnapping not illegal in this country?” I refused to look at him, knowing he’d be propped against the doorframe, arms over his chest, eyes everywhere, taking in everything. He had a gravitation pull, and even if I did not meet his eyes, it felt as if he would swallow the world whole if he wanted to.

“It is.” The sound of Lamb’s tired and gravelled voice was new, and I despised how it vibrated deep in my bones.

His footsteps were quiet but not soundless as he walked across the room. I stared holes into the sheer white curtains, not letting even his silhouette enter my line of sight. They drifted in a small breeze, rippling like the crest of a wave breaking across the shore.

My weight shifted on the bed, the world tilting slightly with it. My stomach churned, but its disapproval was muted compared to the previous night’s protests.

I jerked at the warmth against my forehead, his wide palm momentarily blocking my vision as I spun towards him. “Your fever’s broken.” Relief laced his voice, and I scrutinized it.

“You do not have to touch me,” I hissed. “Thermometers exist.”

“I know,” Lamb murmured, his hand still lingering. “But it’s a good excuse as any to touch you.”

“You’re not supposed to admit that.” I shook off his touch. He did not push, retracting his hand back into his lap. He remained seated by my side, undeterred by my unwelcoming actions. Instead, a small smile pulled on his lips, eyes flickering as they jumped about my face. I was sure I looked interesting to him—white face, dark circles, hollowed cheek. I could not fathom what horror movie I had turned into. It had been a long time since I had last looked at my reflection. I doubted I could even recognise it even if a mirror was in front of me

I caught his brown eyes. My attempts to ignore him had failed, and the energy to resist was waning. He held my gaze, unmoving and undistracted as we stared for a long moment. I realised the mistake I had made as my heart began to pick up in my chest. Although his expression was neutral, something about his steady, unblinking stare made me feel like someone was intruding inside. Someone without permission. Someone uninvited.

I moved first, scared he had found something he was not meant to see and instead escaped away from his face to his body. I noticed his dark grey tee, thick, bleach-washed jeans and dark hooded jacket slung over his shoulders. It felt too casual for a man who wore tailored suits to do dirty deals for his club.

He reached for my cheek, and I growled like a wild animal to stop him. Reading it in my eyes, his hand hung in the air before retracting back to his side.

“Were you not ever told not to touch something that doesn’t belong to you?” I sighed, the insufferable man having the audacity to act oblivious. “Just because women throw themselves at you doesn’t mean—”

“I do,” Lamb interrupted, eyes unmoving onto mine. “I know.”

I stiffened, his penetrating gaze stirring a thread of guilt deep down in my middle. I refused to apologise, however, dropping my eyes to his chest. His Adam’s apple stirred, but he remained so still I wondered if he even breathed at all.

I closed my eyes, my heavy head resting on the soft pillow. In just a few minutes, this man had managed to sap the energy out of my body and soul. “I am getting a headache,” I grumbled.

“The medicine is wearing off.” Lamb lifted himself off the bed, and my middle jostled with that familiar nausea.

Even through the drowsiness, it’d been a long time since I had felt so relaxed. Drugs were dangerous.

He padded to the other side of the bed, squeezing the IV bag hanging on the post. Confirming it was empty, he sat in Mint’s chair and slid his hands under the covers.

I jumped at the touch of his fingers, but it did not deter him. His fingers slid underneath my elbow and, with great care, he slid my arm out and removed the needle.

“You’re all done.” Lamb soothed a plaster over the bead of blood on my arm, holding it down with his thumb.

“You are doing that thing again,” I grumbled, staring at his hand. His thumb began to smooth over the plaster back and forth. “I am sure that’s plenty stuck now.”

Lamb mumbled something, but I could not make it out. He held on for a moment longer before letting go, looking regretful. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, standing.

With growing strength, I managed to slither my arm back under the defence of the covers and trace Lamb as he moved across the room, disappearing out from the door and closing it behind him.

I pushed the cover back from the bed, a chill racing across my skin. The autumn air felt less welcome on my exposed skin. My jeans and socks had not changed, but an unfamiliar large shirt hung from my shoulders. I reached for the collar, the material soft between my fingers. If I brought it closer, I knew it would smell warm and woodsy.

I leaned off the bed, making smooth, gentle movements as my body roiled with any sharp motion. Lethargy still latched to my limbs, forcing me to use momentous effort to sit upright. Throbbing beat in the back of my mind, but I ignored it, squinting around, looking for my familiar, dirty, tanned backpack.

A few things were of a similar colour, but it was only when I spotted something on the dresser in the back that was the same size that I had the motivation to move my legs to the edge of the bed. I took it steady, but there was little avoiding the dizzying waves. Planting my feet on the floor seemed simple at first until I tried to put weight on it.

Soft, plush carpet absorbed most of my fall, my knees knocking into the ground and my body crumbling down on top of them. I clasped my hand over my mouth as the urge to heave clawed up my throat. With my other hand, I made a tight fist around the top sheet, anchoring me to something steady.

Time ticked by, and my sense of urgency grew stronger. I glanced over the top of the bed to the door; it was still closed. I didn’t know how long I had until Lamb got back, but I had to get it while I had the chance.

“I am not beneath crawling,” I breathed, peeling each finger from the bed and finding support on the carpet.

Crawling proved efficient, and even with the small struggle of keeping my balance and orientation, I moved across to the edge of the room, focusing on my hands and knees. Left. Right. Left. Right .

Something hard slammed into the top of my head, and I jerked backwards with a hiss, only to see the dresser I was aiming for.

My heart leapt at the sight of my dirty, torn, degrading bag slumped on the surface. “Yes!” I lunged for the thing, not caring how the world spun or my knuckles bounced off the dresser as my fingers grabbed a fistful of the material and pulled it down to join me on the floor.

Thump.

I froze.

“No,” I breathed, my hands scrambled for the opening, tugging on the drawstring. “No, no, no, no.”

It was empty.

“No!” I whined, shaking the thing upside down. A range of small items fell—a pair of socks, a napkin, paper, and bottle caps. A handful of empty hotel bottles clattered against each other on the carpet, but otherwise … it was all gone.

Despair washed over me, and I stared holes into the useless pile of rubbish on the floor.

“Looking for something?” Lamb’s voice startled me.

I whipped my head around, my hand lunging for the dresser to anchor myself.

In his hand, he held up a clear glass bottle. Inside, a brown liquid sloshed back and forth in the glass.

A white-hot rage rose inside of me. “That belongs to me!”

Using the small secret reserve of strength that even I was unaware of, I gathered my feet beneath me and all but scrambled forwards. I bounced off every piece of furniture, clawing my way towards him. My legs threatened to collapse beneath me, and my body swayed like I was on a sea in a storm. I did not care. I wanted it back. I needed it!

I lunged and, unsurprisingly, missed.

I collided with a hard chest, my face crushed against his soft jumper as he curved his back into my force, softening the blow just slightly. The bastard did not even make a noise.

My fists tightened in handfuls of his jumper as I used him as a pole to prop myself up. Fortunately, my sea legs had not crumbled, and I had not fallen to crotch height as I had feared. “You could—”

Liquid sloshed above me.

My head snapped back like a demon, and I saw it. It hung in the air, higher than I could reach, but it was not an impossible jump.

Lamb’s head turned down to look at me, his brown eyes wide with surprise. If I had been thinking clearly, I would have noticed how unfamiliar it looked on the steelman’s face, but I was not, and I did not care.

“Give. It. To. Me,” I growled, twisting my fingers through layers of his clothing. I was not beneath much, and pinching was well above the line.

If it hurt, Lamb did not show it.

Instead, he smiled.

He fucking smiled.

“How about we make a deal?” With the cheer in his voice and the sudden eagerness in his eyes, there was only one thing that came to mind.

This wouldn’t end well.