C H A P T E R S E V E N T E E N
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D Y L A N
Dylan took in a deep breath, attempting to steady her breathing. The makeshift splint of her ankle dug into her skin, drawing a deep crimson that burned as it dribbled down her skin. A whimper slipped past her lips, hot white fire creeping under her skin as she pressed a hand into her side.
Pressing further into the corner, Dylan began to push away her panic. She'd found simple calculations tended to work best in these scenarios, replying on numbers and letters more than any semblance of calming words, reminding herself of the dimensions of the room as she shut her eyes tight, careful not to make any more noise.
"You're in here somewhere, Brookes!" A gravely voice called out. She could hear the heavy footsteps, firm boots hitting concrete.
"We just wanna talk!" Hissed another. Dylan swallowed, numbers running through her head as she pressed firmly on her wound. She'd need stitching, and she'd need it soon, otherwise, she'd most certainly bleed out. She couldn't afford to lose, couldn't let herself die; certainly not now, not here, not when she was so close.
Her free hand held tightly onto her gun, the cool metal heating under her grasp.
Four men, she reminded herself. Roughly eight meters away. All armed, all cons. Intent to kill.
"THIS ISN'T A GAME, LITTLE GIRL!" She shuddered at the volume of the voice, the man's words echoing throughout the empty parking lot. Smushed between two cars and a support beam, she stood no chance of running away. Her bike was on another level, and escape was impossible. She wasn't certain she'd be able to fight her way out.
Three around the corner, one behind. If they round corner, I'll be able to shoot them from behind the car. But if he's behind me...
She swallowed. There wasn't any time to think about it now. Six bullets. She could afford two extra shots.
She quickly pulled out from her hiding place, gun brandished in her right hand. She fired at the three men in the walkway between either side of the parking spaces. Three shots, two dead. She grimaced. That left her with only one extra bullet.
The remaining man fired his own weapon, and she quickly dove behind another car. Overhead the class shattered, falling onto the ground beside her, into her lap, and in her hair. Her chest heaved, the fire in her left side ablaze. Momentarily, her vision went white, but another fire from the enemy alerted her, the bullet making contact with the wall in front of her. Her jaw clenched involuntarily. Her ankle flared as she stood once more, legs stiff from running. She slipped between the walls and the fronts of the parked cars. Bullets rained from above, shattering car windows as the shells hit the floor.
"YOU CAN'T HIDE FOREVER, GIRLIE!" One man roared over the noise. Dylan swallowed. She knew that—he was right; she couldn't hide forever.
Slipping soundlessly past the cars as the glass shattered, another bullet slipped by far too closely, cutting into her cheek. A pained cry escaped from her throat as the blood rolled down her cheek and jaw.
How am I supposed to explain this? She thought. Darren will be pissed.
She moved quickly, standing up and firing quickly as the man paused to reload. He fell immediately, blood and brains splattering across the pavement.
Two bullets, one man.
That was when a hand emerged, wrapping tightly around her throat and pulling her out from behind the cars. Dylan's chest caught flame, convulsing from the lack of air she so desperately needed. The remaining man loomed overhead, pinning her down beside the bodies of the men she felled. Blood seeped into her hair and clothes, the familiar stench of a man's insides burning her nose.
A boot came down over her wrist and the gun slipped from her hand. If she were able to breathe, a cry no doubt would have come from her chest, but all that came out was bubbles of blood.
"You fucking bitch," the man growled. "I'm gonna have to teach you a lesson, huh? You know what happens to pretty girls who cause trouble for us?" Dylan forced a generous smile, nose scrunching up in pain.
"You know what happens to assholes who don't give me what I want?" She choked out.
She forced her legs upwards, one under the man's arm and the other over his shoulder. She pulled as hard as she could, legs wrapped tightly around his shoulder. He came forward, rolling underneath her as his hands slipped from her throat. The man let out a gasp as his back hit the ground, and Dylan's elbow made contact with his throat. He gasped for breath as she took back her gun, placing the gun against his forehead.
"You move so much as a pinkie finger and I shoot," Dylan growled. The man glared, but submitted to her, accepting defeat. "Now tell me what I want to know." The man forced a smile, twisted, and angry.
"Like we said," he choked out, voice hoarse and breath uneven, "Mark Hannigan is dead." Dylan took the man's hand, pushing his fingers back. He shifted under her, shutting his eyes tightly.
"Do you know how easy it is to break off a finger?" She hissed. "Like breaking a carrot. And you've got ten of these things, and we can sit here all night while I remove them. So don't. Lie. To. Me."
"We..." the man winced. "Lost track of him somewhere around the border. He's off in Mexico somewhere. That's all I know." Dylan nodded.
"I see. And as for my parents?"
"All we know is that they're gone. And you—" he chuckled. "You're a walking target, Dylan Brookes. Sooner or later you'll wind up with a bullet in your head."
Dylan smiled cooly. "You're mistaken. That's you." Her finger tightened on the trigger, the second to last bullet firing from the gun. She sighed and pulled back from the man's lip body, stomach twisted in pain.
Vomit rose from her throat and she coughed, the knot in her stomach only growing as she choked out the remnants of whenever she'd last eaten. It wasn't much, and mostly blood, but it left a pit in her stomach.
One bullet. No remaining targets, she thought.
But I'm back at square one.
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Dylan fought back a grimace as she limped across campus. It was late now, warranting security guards to patrol the school grounds. With her injuries, she'd most likely be caught. No matter; the headmaster was whom she needed to see anyways.
Although she'd changed back into her usual attire, she heavily doubted she looked anything less than suspicious. Blood seeped through the stomach of her sweater, the strain forced upon her injured ankle surely harming it further—and that was ignoring the damage the make-shift splint had done. She'd done her best to get rid of any blood on her face and hands, but she knew from experience that there was always some.
Her muscles burned with every step. With the danger passed and the adrenaline faded, she fought back tears as she forced herself onwards. She normally wouldn't try to return to the public eye in such an alarming state, but more than that she couldn't afford to be found missing from her dorm room come morning. That would draw more attention to her than a sorry looking girl with a limp. Anyone who saw her would surely peg it on the bullies, ones whom were never delivered any justice. Best case scenario, it would be chalked down to another well-deserved beating and be forgotten within a week.
To her surprise, she managed to slip into the girl's dormitory without being spotted. Deciding she'd speak with the headmaster in the morning, she opted to return to her room, take a shower, and once Delilah was off to bed, have a drink or two. Although climbing the stair was a challenge, she eventually made it upstairs, and then to her dorm room.
Ignoring the sudden throbbing of her head, Dylan quietly unlocked the door. With luck, Delilah would be asleep or at least preoccupied, so she could slip into the bathroom without any unwanted attention.
She opened the door to find the lights still on. Immediately her eyes were caught by her roommate's, a bitter frown on the usually smiling girl. The angry glare turned to worry when Delilah registered Dylan's disheveled state.
She sat at Dylan's desk chair, most likely ready to scold her like a disappointed parent finding their child had broken curfew. But it appeared to all disappear the moment Delilah stood, knocking the chair back in surprise as she raced to Dylan, eyes wide and filled with fear.
"Oh my god, Danielle! What the hell happened?" She gripped Dylan's shoulders, pulling her down to meet her gaze. Dylan winced, and Delilah immediately retracted her hands. "Sorry! Oh my-oh my god! Blood! That's blood! You're bleeding! Oh my god, why are you bleeding?" Despite herself, Dylan grimaced, not wanting to answer her questions. All the same, Dylan made her way towards her bed. Delilah has seen her, so there wasn't any point in heading straight to the bathroom. She doubted Delilah would let her, anyways.
"Stop yelling," Dylan gripped, rubbing the side of her head.
"What the hell am I supposed to do, Danielle! You're covered in blood and—oh my god, oh my god! Danielle, who did this to you?" Dylan frowned, eyes narrowing as she silently urged Delilah to quiet herself.
"Calm down, Delilah. I'm fine."
"YOUR STOMACH IS BRIGHT RED, DANIELLE!" Delilah screeched.
"Quiet!" Dylan hissed. "Do you want to wake everyone up? Have security be called up?" Delilah shook her head, eyes brimming with tears.
"I-I don't know! I want you to go to a hospital, Danielle!" Delilah cried. "What happened to you? Why are you bleeding?"
"The bleeding stopped, Del. For now." She sighed and shook her head. "Calm down. Light some of those stupid candles for all I care, alright? Just calm down. I'll answer your questions when you're calm." Delilah shook her head again, this time in protest.
"How am I supposed to be calm when my roommate's dying?"
"I'm not dying, Delilah," Dylan hissed. "Sit down!" She hadn't meant to raise her voice, but the surprise that flashed across Delilah's face was enough to remind Dylan not to do so. Delilah immediately sat upon instruction, the worry in her eyes now accompanied by fear.
Dylan took in a deep breath, closing her eyes in an attempt to calm herself down. When she opened them, Delilah was crying. She took in another breath, this time uneven and shaky. She didn't like it when people cried. She wasn't certain how to react to it. She wasn't certain how to stop it, either.
"Who. Did. This?" Delilah asked, eyes narrow and voice firm. She looked angry, too. "Was it Zach? His stupid friends?" Dylan shook her head.
"No, it wasn't anyone at this school," she replied somewhat vaguely. "But I can't disclose anything further than that."
"You fucking better, Danielle! I'm your roommate! Your friend! Tell me!"
"I cannot."
"Why the hell not?!" Delilah cried. "I'm terrified, Danielle! Terrified! Do you have any idea how hard it is bring your friend? To have to worry about you constantly? To see your bruises and your cuts and not know whose giving them to you? To have to worry there'll be more! And there are! There are always more! And my friend—my best fucking friend—is sneaking out and coming home even worse for wear! And you refuse to tell me!"
I didn't ask for you to worry. The words hung on Dylan's lips, but refused to come out. When she opened her mouth, something else emerged.
"Dylan." Delilah wiped at her eyes, though the tears didn't stop. She sniffed.
"Wh-What?" Dylan swallowed.
Too late to turn back now.
"Dylan. That's my real name."