Page 11 of Pushed

The lucky ones?

What the fuck does he mean?

“I just want to go home. Please let me go, I won't say anything, I promise.”

“Your promise is no good now, it means shit.” Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, I felt the heat off his breath as he lowered his face to my ear. “It's a little too late for promises.”

No good?

He isn't even listening to me!

My chest began to rise and fall rapidly as he continued to push me forward, leading me to an uncertain place for an unknown reason. His explanation had been nothing less than cryptic, giving me no clues to the true nature of his plan.

No! I won't let him do this!

I can't just let him take me without fighting for myself.

I felt empowered, filling with determination and a will to live. I wasn't going to just stand there and allow him to push me through the darkness to my death, not without a fight.

So I did the only thing I could; I ran.

Rocking my shoulder hard, I yanked my arm free. His fingers tried to dig in, they tried to grip tighter and hold me in place. I felt them swipe my skin, brushing over with the weight of a feather, but I slipped away.

Pushing myself forward, I darted to the left and ran. I ran as fast as I could, blindfolded and struggling to rip my hands free of the bindings.

The ground crunched like broken glass under my feet, each step was one unknown after another. Every time my foot hit the dirt, I was playing with fire. I wasn't sure what was in front of me, and honestly, I didn't care.

If I ran off a cliff into the water below, then I would accept the liquid into my lungs. If I ran into a busy highway and was hit full force by an oncoming truck, then I would accept the feel of metal on my bones as it crushed the life out me.

Because death by my own hand was easier to deal with than the idea of being raped or murdered by a group of savage beasts.

Just run!

Run and don't stop running!

Lunging forward with my feet, a set of hands wrapped around my waist, lifting me off the ground in one swoop.

A voice I recognized from the small apartment whispered in my ear. “Gotcha.” It was the tall man with the dead eyes. “Which room do you want her in?” he asked, speaking in a tone that was so calm and collected, I knew it hadn't been his first time capturing a runaway.

“Open up the white room, Fior, she belongs there.”

What the hell is the white room?

I don't belong here! I belong home!

Screaming, I kicked my legs and jostled my body. “No! Let me go! Fuck you! Fuck you and your white room!”

“Feisty, I like that,” Fior said, clinging to me tighter. Walking forward, his feet thumped into the sand, kicking it back up and over my back.

“Careful with that one, Fior, I need her.”

Letting my body fall limp, I lifted my head in the direction of Machi's voice. “Why do you need me? I'm no good to you.”

He didn't answer. A raspy chuckle pierced my ears as Machi growled like a rabid animal. His fingers raked through my hair, yanking my head off Fior's shoulder. “Your time for questions is done.”