Through The Eyes Of The Lion

12.

Saunders lowered close to the ground to lift the unconscious man. "He's heavy." He groaned. "I think maybe I need to start bench pressing more."

He chuckled lightly and laid the man in the back seat. Angela climbed back there with him, lifting his head onto her lap as she pressed the fabric into his wound.

"We've got to find out where he's taking her." Holmes mumbled.

"First, we've got to get August to your house." Saunders spoke as he claimed the driver's seat. "And then we need a plan."

—-

"How long was I out?" August asked groggily as he sighed and opened his eyes.

"About an hour." Holmes told him.

She had been cleaning his forehead, her eyes falling to the large gash that was left there.

"Did you go after him?" He flinched as she dabbed the rag onto his skin again.

She nodded. "We found number 10 instead. On an outdoor track field." She spoke softly, attempting not to add any pain to the man's already throbbing head.

"And her note?" He asked.

"I guess so far I've been quite clear, so number 11...well I've made her disappear." Holmes spoke, having memorized the note. "I read it quite a few times."

August furrowed his eyebrows and shut his eyes once more. "Made her disappear?" He repeated. "What the hell does that even mean?"

Angela shrugged. "No clue. But Saunders is rounding up the other five possible victims as we speak. He should be back soon."

"Where are we?" He asked.

"Wow...we break up for three years and you suddenly forget what my house looks like." Angela joked with a slight laugh.

August shook his head, smiling only slightly. "The couch wasn't here last time. And that's new." He pointed to her coffee table. "The old one was wooden, not glass...and it was warped because you refuse to use coasters." He playfully rolled his eyes.

"It's my table. Coasters are for visitors." She shrugged. "If I want to ruin my table, let me."

"Yeah okay." He returned. "In my house, coasters are used."

"Well this isn't your house, now is it?" She replied with a smirk.

"Valid point. How's my head looking?" He asked, groaning as he sat up slowly. His hand found its way to the bandaged wound that had been stitched up on his side.

It was only then that he realized that he was shirtless. "And where's my shirt? That was an expensive shirt."

Holmes raised her eyebrows. "I have a feeling you won't want that back." She admitted. "And it looks like you'll need stitches here too." Her eyes drifted down to his exposed abdomen. "When did you get the tattoo?" She asked him.

It was an intricate tattoo with the initials A and H, intertwined with his own. It rested on his left shoulder. He gave a soft shrug and ignored her comment about his tattoo.