Collide

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Louis didn't move.

"You shot him," he said.

Blase waved it off. "Couldn't take any risks," he said. "He was weak and would've broken. Plus I never liked him anyway."

Louis felt Eleanor grip his arm. She was clearly terrified, but trying hard not to let it show.

"Here's how things are going to work," Blase said. "For every hour that you do not lay your weapons down, so to speak, I am going to give Zayn another scar. This has to end."

"Right," Louis scoffed. "And you won't just kill us all the moment we walk in."

"Then go ahead," Blase said as if he were talking of something as simple as ordering a familiar coffee rather than trying something new on the menu. "Leave Zayn. But his death will be on your hands, Tomlinson. Everything that happens to him is on you. Just remember that. And by the way, you can keep your girl. Consider her a gift."

Eleanor did not like being referred to as property. She advanced but Louis put his arm out to stop her. She only needed to one reminder to regain her common sense. She stayed where she was but if looks could kill Blase would be dead a million times over.

Blase put the gun in the back of his pants and casually walked away in the opposite direction of where he came, as if he was simply going for a stroll and enjoying the weather.

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The first thing Zayn was aware of was a constant dripping. Then pain. There was aching pain in his wrists and shoulders. And the more he tried to think, his head hurt, too. Yeah, his head hurt a lot.

Zayn tried to open his eyes, but nothing happened. Was he paralyzed? No, he already had opened them, it was just pitch black wherever he was.

Finally everything clicked together. There had been someone in his house, he had been too stupid and distracted not to notice. Now he was here, his wrists bound above his head, toes just barely scraping the floor, in a room that no doubt belonged to his former employers.

Shit did not even sort of begin to cover it.

He felt a draft when he noticed he wasn't wearing his shirt, socks, or shoes. Probably removed during a search, and no one had the decency to put them back.

'Stop' he told himself as panic started rising. 'That won't help. Keep a clear head, and focus.'

Judging my the dripping there was a piping system above him, likely where the ropes were slung over. Hopefully the incessant noise meant there was something loose.

Zayn took a deep breath, tried to prepare himself, then pushed off the ground as hard as he could with all his strength, pulling his feet up, and dropping all his weight onto his bindings.

He bit his tongue and fought the urge to cry out as agonizing pain shot up his shoulders and wrists. Regret immediately formed in his chest.

'Well,' he thought, trying to keep his head clear through the pain. 'Now you know that pipe won't budge. Now you know.'

The key here was to work through the pain, Zayn was sure of that. There was no laying down and dying on this one. He didn't know what he would do once he was free, but he'd have to figure that out when the time came.

He tried twisting his way out, but that only proved to cut the ropes deeper into his wrists, but he didn't stop, not for roughly 5 minutes.

Out of pure frustration he yanked on the ropes full force, but as before, his only reward was intense pain.

Zayn just dropped and hung where he was, exhausted. He had no clue how long he was hanging there when the door opened. There was a sudden blinding light as the door opened and he hid his eyes shut in his shoulder, squeezing them shut.

"Look who is finally awake," he heard an all-too-familiar voice say.

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"Basically if we don't walk in there for our own executions Zayn is as good as dead?" Niall asked.

"Yeah," Louis said with a wince as Eleanor stitched up the cut on his forehead. She had escaped with minimal damage due to the fact that the crash was on his side.

"Hold still," she muttered with a concentrated look on her face.

Everyone was furious. Most people, like Harry and Murphy, were just using their anger as a cover for the concern they had for their friend.

Harry's knuckles were raw and purple from the amount of times he'd excused himself to go beat the bathroom wall. And really, Niall couldn't blame him. They had just gotten over almost losing Liam just to have Zayn taken? That hardly seemed fair.

Niall shook his head incredulously.

"This is bullshit. We've got to get him out of there."

"No shit," Harry said.

Liam shifted, obviously feeling somewhat responsible for the tension in the room.

"C'mon Niall," he said and got up from where he was leaning.

"What are you thinking?" Connor asked.

"I'm going to teach him to shoot. Properly. Harry," he motioned to his friend. "I'd appreciate a hand."

He didn't stop to ask permission from his cousins before he walked out. Clearly it was something he felt needed to be done and with what was hanging over their heads, Niall agreed.

He stood up and walked after Liam out the back.

There was no way they weren't fighting back, and Niall wanted to be prepare for whatever came.

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"And that's it?" asked the adorable store clerk at the shooting range.

"That'll be it," Harry said. Normally he may have been a bit of a charmer in this circumstance, but given what was at stake, he could hardly crack a smile, let alone flirt. This was hardly the time.

Grabbing the bag of ammunition he'd just bought, Harry walked back to his car.

If this was how things were going to go down, than so be it. But to hell if anyone thought he was going to let Zayn die. Again.