Page 150 of Hurt

“Well, then, Master Elliott. I am grateful for your assistance. We were just discussing a plan of attack.” He stepped aside and opened his hand, gesturing for Noah to follow them.

Master Elliott.

The title made Elijah feel sick. How could this happen? Noah wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near this. He was supposed to be back at his apartment, angry at him, but safe and free from all this blood. Noah didn’t even want the title.

Elijah reached forward and grabbed Noah’s sleeve. Those blank eyes slid to him. They shared a look but no matter how hard Elijah searched, he couldn’t find his Noah in that stare.

Noah shrugged off Elijah’s hand and tossed something between them.

“Thanks for the knife.”

He pushed past him and took his place amongst the killers.

A knife laid at Elijah’s feet. Its blade was coated in dried blood. He recognized it as one of his own.

He had put the knife in Noah’s hand.

27

I LIKE YOU MORE AND MORE THE LESS YOU BREATHE

The wire dug through the strands of rope with ruthless efficiency. If Kurt was at full strength, he could have had the rope sliced apart in moments, but with his broken leg he couldn’t use his legs for leverage. Every few minutes his vision would darken, and he would have to pause to painfully catch his breath. It was a labor of frustration but after half an hour he finally started to see some results.

Fresh blood covered his hands where the wire had dug into his skin, but the pain was gone. His hands just felt numb.

He had cut through two-thirds of the rope when Ezra’s phone went off with a notification. The text tone was obnoxiously loud as it vibrated in place on the sleek nightstand. Kurt froze and ducked his head behind the footboard. Ezra’s snoring stopped.

Long seconds ticked by with nothing.

Finally, Kurt lifted his head up to look.

A pair of hate-filled eyes met his. Ezra sneered as he reached over the headboard and grabbed Kurt’s chin, fingers tightening.

“You’ve been a busy boy,” he said with a chuckle as he took in Kurt’s handiwork. “Don’t you know it’s rude to leave without saying goodbye?”

Kurt batted his hand away, wincing as he knocked his broken hand against Ezra’s wrist.

Ezra grabbed the wire wrapped around Kurt’s hands. The wire cut deeper as he lifted them up over Kurt’s head. His ribs screamed in agony, and he couldn’t breathe.

“You used to be so well behaved.” He tsked as if he was talking to a child who couldn’t sit still in his seat at school “I told you those Weavers were a bad influence. What kind of things did they teach you?”

Hanging from Ezra’s grip Kurt did his best to breathe shallowly. Any amount of air was welcome as his bruised ribs compressed his lungs.

“What happened to my docile little plaything?”

Kurt wheezed in response.

Rolling his eyes, Ezra tossed him back. Kurt landed with a thud, curling in on himself and inhaling quick little breaths to chase away the darkness. Feebly, he unwrapped his hands and let the bloody wire fall to the ground. His hands were shaking, and fresh blood ran down his forearms in rivulets.

The mattress creaked as Ezra lazily slid off. He stretched his arms above his head. His clothes were rumpled—the same blood-covered black T-shirt and jeans he had been wearing before.

Idly he picked up his phone and flicked through his notifications while Kurt coughed and gasped. Blood flecked his lips, and he wasn’t sure if it was from his external or internal wounds.

Ezra gasped sharply and swore. His fingers were white around his phone and his face a mask of shock. Vicious almond shaped eyes flicked over the screen before he slammed the phone down. It skittered across the cement floor and came to a stop close enough that Kurt could see it.

Upside down, it was difficult to pick out details, but after a moment, he could tell it was a very dead Asher.

Kurt felt his lips curl.