Black Thorns: Chapter 2

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Did I forget to turn off the faucet? Or is it coming from outside?

I open my mouth to call for Mom, but no sound comes out.

The dripping continues, escalating in volume and in repetitiveness until it’s grating on my nerves.

Drip…drip, drip…drip.

Drip!

Groaning, I slowly open my eyes.

I’m not in my room.

I’m not home.

Or anywhere I recognize.

Dark gray walls surround me from every side. Even the solid ground I’m lying on is dark and hard.

My head is a jumbled mess as I slowly survey my surroundings. I’m in an empty room with no furniture in sight.

There are no windows either, and the only light comes from an old yellow bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling.

I slowly move my gaze from left to right. There’s a door that’s as gray as the walls, but it appears to be metal.

In the corner, there’s a yellowish toilet and I’d be shocked if it’s even functional.

The dripping comes from a small spigot in the wall that’s not turned completely off.

Where the hell am I and why does this place appear to be some sort of a prison?

I attempt to sit up and wince when a sting of pain explodes in my neck. I touch it and freeze when my fingers connect with what feels like a puncture in my skin.

Then all the events from earlier rush through the fog in my head.

The dark figures. The chase. The gunshot.

Sebastian.

I gasp, my frantic gaze searching the room. Sebastian was shot. He was shot right in front of me and when I rushed forward, a needle pricked me in the neck.

Then everything went black. The next thing I knew, I woke up in this room.

I pause when my gaze lands on a dark figure huddled in the far corner on my right.

At first, I think it’s something ominous, but then I recognize the mass of muscles and the dark blond strands peeking out.

“Sebastian!” I call in a hoarse voice.

I try standing up, but my legs refuse to carry me. I crawl toward him on all fours, ignoring the pressure and discomfort scratching at my knees.

I stop beside him. He’s lying on his side, face down. Strands of his hair cover his face. I grab his shoulder and pause when a low, guttural sound escapes him.

Something wet and cold touches my knee and I startle when I stare down.

Dark red.

Blood.

Lots of it.

It forms a small sticky pool beneath his shoulder that’s against the ground.

Oh, God.

I wished that his getting shot was a figment of my overactive imagination and that it didn’t really happen. That maybe I made it all up due to being pricked by that needle.

But the evidence that it’s all real is right in front of me.

Bleeding out of him in a steady stream.

My lips quiver and my heart pounds so hard, I think it’ll spill out on the ground.

“Sebastian!” I gently shake his good shoulder so I don’t aggravate his injury.

He doesn’t even stir. My frantic pulse roars in my ears in sync with the worst-case scenarios that play in my head.

What if he’s dying?

What if he never wakes up?

“Sebastian…” my brittle voice echoes around us as I carefully palm his cheek and turn it toward me. His hair falls back from his forehead and I get a view of his ethereally handsome face. The same face that has become such a constant in my dreams.

His skin is pale, making his features less sharp, and his lips are chapped and bluish.

That can’t be good.

I slowly flip him over and that’s when I get my first view of the wound in his upper shoulder.

The bullet has ripped through his Black Devils jacket, leaving a gash in his skin. Blood soaks the white sleeve, turning it red, and the black stripes look dark brown.

Some of the blood has clotted, but there’s an opening from which blood keeps oozing out at a slow, lethal pace.

Shit. Shit!

If he’s been bleeding out for long, this will quickly turn fatal.

“Sebastian…” I gently tap his cheeks. “Open your eyes. You have to wake up…please…”

He finally stirs but doesn’t respond.

Moisture gathers in my lids, but I don’t let the tears loose. Dragging in a sharp inhale of air, I breathe in the stench of blood and the humidity in this place, but there’s also a hint of bergamot and amber.

Of Sebastian.

Using his presence as an anchor, I grab his good arm and push him onto his back.

He groans and I pause before I release him. I need to stop the hemorrhage or he’ll bleed out.

My gaze strays sideways in search of anything I can use and when I find nothing, I pull my T-shirt over my head and shove it against his wound.

A low, guttural sound leaves his throat as his lips twist in pain. Sweat gathers between his thick brows and on his temple.

I bite my lip and continue.

Cold air seeps through me, forming goosebumps on my bare skin, but I ignore it as I increase the pressure.

“Sebastian…please…please open your eyes.”

Goddamnit.

He definitely needs medical attention, not a T-shirt and some pressure. What if this wound kills him? What if I…lose him?

I shake my head at that thought and hold the material with one hand, then search the pocket of my shorts with the other. Sure enough, my phone isn’t there. I search Sebastian’s pants, but his is missing as well.

It shouldn’t be a surprise since whoever brought us here wouldn’t have let us keep our phones.

I focus back on the shirt. It’s partially soaked, but the bleeding appears to have stopped.

A sigh of relief escapes me.

But even I realize this whole thing is temporary. He needs help and he needs it now.

He grunts and there’s movement behind his lids before they slowly open. I’ve never been so happy to see his tropical light green eyes as I am right now.

They’re a bit unfocused, muted, almost as if he’s not all here.

But he is. He’s not gone. He’s with me.

“Sebastian! Can you hear me?”

He stares up at me, slowly, unhurriedly, almost as if he’s seeing me for the first time.

I can tell the exact moment he recognizes me. His pupils dilate and fire creeps into his features.

“Nao?” he croaks, his voice hoarse and gritty, as if the act is taking up all his energy.

I nearly break down from the flood of relief while I blurt. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“What happened…?” He attempts to sit up and groans as he falls on his back.

I keep a gentle but firm hand on his chest so he stays in place. “Don’t move. You were shot and the bleeding has just barely stopped.”

“Fuck,” he grumbles, the rumble of his voice deeper than usual.

Everything is different. His face. His weakness. This whole damn place.

Sebastian looks down at his wound that I’m covering with my T-shirt, then back at me. His inquisitive gaze studies me from top to bottom as if he’s relearning my body, then it soon turns frantic. “Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?”

I don’t know if it’s his worried tone or the way that instead of asking about his own injury, he’s only focused on my well-being. It could be both of those combined, but I can’t control it when big, fat tears cascade down my cheeks.

“Baby…” Sebastian’s frown deepens. “Are you hurt?”

“No, you’re the one who was shot and nearly bled out. Why the hell are you worried about me?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? You’re always the first thing I think about. Gotta protect what’s mine, baby.”

I want to tell him that no, I’m not his and that we’re over because of the stupid bet he accepted from Reina. I want to argue and fight him because he thought it was a good idea to be part of a dare where he had to fuck me to impress the campus’s queen bee and his football team buddies.

I want to shout at him over all the humiliation I felt when the cheerleaders, led by that bitch Brianna, made me the laughing stock of school.

But that’s not important right now.

Not when his life is on the line.

“We need to get out of here.”

“Where are we?” he speaks with difficulty, straining with every word.

“I don’t know. It seems like some sort of a prison.”

“Do you know who did this?”

“I…think so.”

He gives me a questioning look, blinking rapidly, probably trying to stay focused.

I lick my lips. “The man who shot you said, Told you we’d meet again, Hitori-san. He has the same voice as one of the men who visited me and Mom not too long ago. His name is Ren and I think he’s one of my dad’s men.”

“Your dad’s men?”

“Mom warned me that he’s dangerous.”

“What does he do exactly?”

“I don’t know, but Ren is definitely the one behind this.”

Static fills the room and we both freeze as a suave voice echoes through the air, “Ding ding ding. That is correct. Now, let the games begin.”