𝐕𝐄𝐗𝐄𝐃 ❷

𝟔𝟐. ✭ 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐒𝐒𝐀 ✭

Sirens. So many sirens going off in my brain right now. I don't know if they're real or if they're imaginary. My brain has been conjuring some really interesting things here lately. I'm probably partially insane. Being beaten, bloodied and starved will do that to a person.

I cough out into the room, barely able to take in my surroundings anymore. Between beatings I've hardly been fed. I've hardly drank. I almost don't know who I am anymore. This is the closest I've ever been to death than I can ever remember being; stab wound from Scott Marling excluded. I had definitely felt on the brink of death's doors then and again when we'd come back from our assassination of the Marling club and compound.

That was one of the happiest times in my life, well, aside from the nearly dying part. To find out I was expecting Lucas's baby was just... my heart and soul couldn't even form the words. But now I can. Giving birth to Adriana made me feel a completeness I never knew I needed, never knew I was missing. She was everything I had always wanted but never knew I did. The look on Luke's face was every single thing. I had never wanted children but seeing his face in that moment was everything to me. Luke was meant to be a father.

The way he is with Wolf is a testament to that. He desperately tries to make up for the lost time he'd missed with our kids growing up. Watching him parent Wolfie is one of my greatest joys in life, that, among other licentious things. That makes me think of Denver, my other life partner. Who was meant to be a father as well.

Torey...

Our son is a lot of the things that are not so great about us. He is also the things that make us great. A damning combination if there ever was one. My current situation is clear evidence of that.

Wooooo... Wooooo... Wooooo...

Okay, yeah, that's definitely actual sirens.

The door to the room I'm being held captive in bursts open revealing one of the absolute loves of my life. I think. My vision is seriously impaired and for the last week I've been nearly delusional, so there's that.

"Fucking stupid-ass, twatty-cunt, motherfuckers," those growled words out of Denver's mouth have me smiling. "The fuck are you smiling about? You look like you're between this world and the next."

"Cause you're real... I think?" That voice doesn't even sound like my voice. "Who's talking?"

"You. You're talking."

"I sound like shit."

"You look like shit too."

I chuckle at that because I can only imagine. If I look like how I feel... well it's sufficed to say utter fucking shit doesn't even begin to cover it.

Den eyes the cell I'm in and looks around the room. He's muttering to himself angrily as he goes over to a table with all sorts of lovely torture instruments, several of which I have become acquainted with. I can't quite make out the words he's saying but something about keys and my rash, impulsive, dumb fucking behavior. Then I make out, "and we wonder where Torey gets it from."

"Pfffffft, look who's talking. Because his father isn't like that at allllll," I mumble sarcastically to his back.

"Looking for these?" The one, Remy, the meaner of the two, asks while holding up a set of keys.

Denver whips around and before the man even knows what's happened he's screaming from the knife that now currently is protruding from his wrist. His gun shoots in Den's direction which has him ducking down. He pulls out a gun of his own and shoots from his angle. Taking out the man's knee caps. Once the man is out of bullets, and nothing but a pile of flesh with blown out knees on the floor, does Den stand.