Lyra Parish - Weak Without Him

"We will worry about it when we are out of this fucking shithole." Hell hath no fury like Finnley fucking Felton on a mission, injured or not.

Cages lined the walls, and women screamed and reached out for us as we passed. I remembered being in this hallway once, and I saw the end staring me in the face. Right around the corner we would climb the stairs that led to the exit on the street.

Everything quickly became mass chaos as the blond man unlocked the temporary prison cells. Gunfire zipped through the hall. Frightened women ran past Finn and me without looking back. The traffickers would not be forgiving, and my fears consumed me. Would I ever be safe? Would Finnley? While winning the battle of saving me, they had inevitably started a war. Somehow I knew Finnley and his men didn't care.

Finnley turned around and looked behind us. Other than the women running through the hallways, we were alone. He yelled for his entourage to hurry but it was drowned out in the mass chaos that surrounded us.

We rounded the corner alone, and a snarling man blocked our way to the stairs. The exit was on the other side of him, and I knew we wouldn't get past without a fight. My legs went out from under me, and Finnley used his strength to hold me.

"Move," Finn said, demanded him, but instead, he laughed like a maniac. He wrapped his arm more snuggly around me but as the man came forward, Finn moved me behind him. I steadied myself against the wall.

Finnley delivered blow after blow, and the giant of a man was on his knees. Adrenaline fueled him. Before walking away, Finn kicked him in the stomach and the man crumbled over on the ground. Not able to stand any longer, my legs went from under me, and I fell to the floor. Too much happened at once, and I wasn't in the best of conditions. Finn bent down over me.

"Let's get out of here."

When I reached up for him, I saw a brute of a man looming over us with a knife in his hand.

"No." I tried to force out, but it was nothing more than a whisper when I saw the flash of a blade disappear and watched Finn fall to his knees. The man lifted the knife above his head, ready to strike again.

I struggled to move as Finnley searched my face. I crawled toward him and tried to scream as he doubled over.

The blond man rounded the corner. As the brute brought the knife down for another round, one single gunshot escaped from the gun in Blondie's hands.

"What a stupid motherfucker."

The man went slack on top of Finn, and Blondie kicked him onto the pavement.

"I should fucking shoot him again for good measure."

Finnley lay without any movement on the ground. Blondie lifted his shirt and screamed to the men that rounded the corner.

Blood was everywhere. I couldn't look.

Death—something so inevitable for all things living—significantly changed my outlook on life, and I didn't want to live through it again. I was tired of losing people I cared for, and a part of me desperately needed Finnley. My parents’ death, leaving Texas for Vegas, the Bellagio, The Elite, Abby, Luke, Finnley, Jesse, London, Paris, the kidnapping, all of those events led to this specific moment.

Time, the only enemy I had, the only thing that we as humans continuously worked against, seemed to control my every move. Timing could be cruel or brilliant. Timing created love or made wars. At that moment, timing left me alone in my darkness, without a clue of what the future held. I became a slave to the ticking seconds, as Finnley lay on the cold concrete, lifeless and bleeding.

Luke rushed to his brother with horror in his eyes. Muffled words, and screams left him. Shock mixed with fear and I couldn't move. Strong hands lifted me, and everything went black. The disbelief of what had happened physically overtook me at the wrong time. I needed to know that the only man I loved was alive and okay. The world dripped away to nothing as we climbed the stairs and exited onto the street.

The cool breeze hummed through the open window and woke me from my dreams. Stark white walls blinded me, and I squinted as my eyes adjusted. My back ached from lying in the same place, but I didn't know how much time had passed.

I moved from under the fluffy blanket and closed the window. The mountains stood strong in the distance as the clouds swept across the pink-hued sky.

"Still in Vegas," I whispered. Still in Vegas.

Bruises lined my arms, and the thought of Finnley almost brought me to my knees. The memory of him being stabbed, and his body falling slack in the dark hallway, replayed itself. I covered my mouth to stop the screams. My heart raced and I had to find him.

I opened the door and the blond-haired man that had killed to protect Finnley stood, patiently. He shot a man, I watched him do it, and I had no doubt in my mind that he would do it again.

"Sleeping beauty has awoke. I'm Abbot." He stretched his hand toward me, and I took it. Abbot had a firm grasp with dry hands. Vegas seemed to do that to people.

"Jennifer. And you should really get some lotion."

He smirked at me then smiled.

"They told me you were outspoken. You'd have to be, to be able to put up with Finnley's bullshit. And I saw the look on your face when you opened the door. Prince Charming is fine."

"Where is he?"

Abbot leaned against the wall and pointed at the door at the end of the hall. I didn't stand around for chitchat.

I ran to the end of the hall, and before opening the door, I sucked in a deep breath. What if he didn't look well? Horrible thoughts coursed through me. Then I thought back to the first time I met Finnley, really met him, at The Elite office. It seemed like so long ago, like decades had passed since that day when I called him Finnley instead of Mr. Felton. I knew then that he'd be dangerous for me when I first laid eyes on him and then after I heard that sexy accent. But under that danger was something more, something caring and loving, still assholish, but I loved it.

With anger blazing, Finnley Felton saved me from the pits of hell and risked his life for me. For me? Who was I? Jennifer Downs. Most likely to succeed. Prude. No, those descriptors were no longer me. I was Jennifer Downs. Smart-ass Texan who was in love with a smart-ass man.

I opened the door.

Finnley lay in bed with his hands tucked under his pillow, sleeping on his side. Messy hair lay flat on his forehead, and his lips parted as he lightly breathed.

My breath hitched as I walked forward. Why was I so nervous about this? Maybe because I had never seen him so vulnerable.

An empty chair next to the bed coaxed me forward, and I sat. I couldn’t stop staring at him, and all the while, I felt like all of it was my fault. If I hadn’t have come to Vegas, then I wouldn’t have met him, and all of this wouldn’t have happened. Regret washed over me like a cool summer rain. This couldn’t happen again.

"I’m sorry," I whispered and placed my face in my hands. "I’m so sorry. This is my fault."

A light touch grazed my arm, and I jerked my hands away. Brilliant green eyes stared at me. I opened my mouth and closed it.

He winced and pushed himself up on the bed. Then he opened his arms and motioned for me to come. I did without hesitation.

When I sat on the bed next to him, he sucked air between his teeth. He placed his hand on my leg and rested his head against the pillow.

Silence lingered.

I didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t speak, but I wanted to talk about everything that happened. I wanted to tell him how horrible Jesse was to me and the things she made me do. I wanted to tell him how I thought Luke was a terrible man. I wanted to tell him that when I was lost in the darkness, the thought of him guided me back to reality. His smile, his smart mouth, and the way his hair barely tucked behind his ear. How he could wear anything or nothing and still be just as sexy. But it didn’t seem like a good time. Would there ever be a good time?