Soulless by T.M. Frazier

Author:T.M. Frazier
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fiction
Published: 2016-02-22T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

Thia

LIGHTS. SOUNDS.

Barking?

I woke up with a start like I’d been launched into consciousness from one world to the next. I sat up so quickly it was like an involuntary knee-jerk reaction to be able to pass air into my lungs again. Opening and closing my mouth I gulped for more air, which came much slower than I wanted.

But at least it came. My breaths were short and staccato.

I’d gone from the land of nothingness into a flurry of commotion. The room spun around me as each of my senses was shocked back to life like they’d just been struck by lightning.

My brief death had taken a toll on me. My neck was sore. My head throbbed. I reached for my throat. I swallowed and it felt as if I’d gargled with sand or broken glass, or a cocktail of both.

There was a crash.

Surprised by the sudden noise I stupidly craned my damaged neck around the side of the bed to see where the noise had come from, and was immediately rewarded with a severe stabbing sensation in and around my throat.

I pushed through the pain, dragging myself on the floor instead of causing further injury to my neck. When I’d moved far enough to see around the bed, my eyes landed on the scene playing out in front of me.

* * *

THE SPINNING ROOM began to slow until it thankfully came to a stop. When I was finally able to take a deep breath I coughed on the exhale, drawing the attention of Mr. Carson, who was on his knees beside the bed. His white shirt torn around his right arm, revealing an open and bloodied gash across his bicep. He pursed his lips and although he was the one on his knees he looked smug, like he’d somehow still won.

The Bear from that morning was not the same Bear who was now in that room, standing behind Mr. Carson with a gun to the back of his head.

Bear looked possessed. A vein throbbed in his temple. His chest heaving up and down. Even the veins running down his defined abdomen, disappearing into his low-slung jeans, looked as though they were pulsing with anger.

“Ti,” Bear said, calling me even further back to the land of the living. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice hoarse and scratchy. It hurt to speak, but it was nowhere near the pain I’d felt just minutes before. I grabbed onto the bedpost, hoisting myself into a standing position. “Do you know who he is?” I asked, looking at the man on his knees.

Bear nodded, pushing the barrel of his gun against the back of the man’s head. “His name is Tretch. He’s a nomad Chop uses on occasion to carry out his dirty work. He’s less known than the crew at Logan’s Beach and when he’s not wearing a cut he looks like a fucking pussy so he’s believable as a civilian.”

“He’s Mr. Carson to me. The guy I shot. The Sunnlandio guy.”

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