Black Butterfly

Chapter 16

Nick walked me out of the building and outside to the sight of three black SUV's. He led me to the closest one and opened the door for me.

"What about-" I swallowed, "The, you know?" I asked.

"My team will take care of it." Was his only reply. I got in the car, and he shut the door. Crossing to the hood of the car he pulled out his phone and made a call. Nick stared to move away as the call went on and from what I could see, it was a heated argument. Nick's hand flew around in gestures I couldn't guess at and his brows furrowed to the point on connecting.

He kept arguing for some time, and while he did, I searched the car. Another couple of small hand pistols in the glove compartment and underneath the floor boards of both passenger and driver seats. Nick finished his call and came storming back into the car, slamming the door. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. 

"What happened?" I asked.

"Nothing you should be concerned about. Come on, we're needed somewhere." Nick started the car and drove us out. 

-

The path he drove felt familiar, but I couldn't tell why. I felt like I'd been down these roads before, but I couldn't picture it. The memory was just black, but the same feeling was there. I was still trying to picture it when we pulled up to a set of wrought iron gates I knew instantly. 

"Why are we here?" I demanded. 

"It's the only safe place for you right now." Nick replied.

"Like hell it is. I could go home-"

"No, you can't. Because that's how they found you the first time." 

"But my family-"

"We're monitoring the situation." Nick cut in coldly. "Now get out of the car." 

I glowered at him and slammed the door as I got out. I speed walked up the driveway, Nick keeping pace behind me. He crossed in front of me to open the door and I stormed inside, barely noticing the still same, grand interior. He led me to the living room where Mason, Olivia and the same red head-Ivy-waited. 

"Where is he?" Nick asked.

"He's coming." Olivia answered.

I looked at each of them, crossing my arms. Ivy sat on the couch, feet up on an automan. Olivia had risen when we came in and put her hands on her hips, and Mason stood with his arms folded across his chest. 

We all kept silent for a while, each of us taking in the other. Until we heard car tires crunch the gravel in the entrance. Mason looked at me and then Nick, 

"Put her somewhere." 

I gaped at him. "Excuse me? Do I look like some sort of object to you?" 

Nobody said anything as Nick grabbed my hand and pulled me up the stairs, despite my vocal and physical protests. 

"Stay in here until someone comes to get you." Nick said, and shut the door.

"Nick, don't you dare-" I growled as I heard a lock click into place. He f*****g locked me in here. I beat on the door and when nobody answered me I saw red. He locked me up like some fragile doll. I've been in two gun fights in the past week, but suddenly I'm too delicate to involve in anything. Like hell I am. I beat against the door for a couple more minutes but when it was clear nobody was coming to get me, I finally took in the room I'd been shoved into. 

It was a small bedroom, smaller than the one at the beach house by comparison. The walls were a cream color white and lined with gold. A small desk and wooden chair sat in one corner by the window. I looked back at the door and gave it another hit. My hands were starting to hurt and my knuckles ached. 

Am I just too much of a issue? Obstacle? I'll show you how much trouble I can be. I rammed my shoulder into the door only to get a jolt of pain in response. I rubbed my shoulder and tried to think of something else to throw at the door. Then I looked back, the chair. 

I turned back to grab the chair and heard voices downstairs. Incoherent, raised voices were muffled by distance and the wood of the door. I grabbed the chair and raised it above my head, aiming for the handle. I swung it down. Nothing. I brought the chair up and down again, again, again, until I heard a c***k and saw the handle jutting out from its place in the door. 

I don't know why I was so angry, maybe it was the fact that ever since that day after the club I'd been treated like some child. Someone who needed protection, who needed to be helped. And maybe I was. Maybe I did need help. But I was not about to let that help mean locking me in a room until the adults are done talking. I pulled out the handle and threw it to the side. It clanged and rolled across the floor. 

I pushed up against the door but it wouldn't budge, so I broke off one of the chairs legs. Splinters went flying and I pushed the rest of the chair to the side. Jamming the leg into the space where the doorknob had been, I shoved and pushed, trying to get the lock to retract. Faint voices and conversation drifted up to me. 

Went the lock still didn't shift I did the one thing I hadn't tried yet. 

I kicked the door. 

Nothing happened the first two kicks, but as my shoe knocked into the door, small chips of wood began flying. And when I kicked the door one last time, the hinges broke and the door swung open. It fell to the floor with a c***k. 

I grabbed the chair leg and made my way out of the mess of splinters and broken pieces of metal. I looked down the hall and tore down the way. When I neared the stairs I skipped them two at a time going down. And when I finally reached the living room I was practically fuming. 

The chair leg still hung in my hand as they all turned to look at me. One by one, surprise flickered across each of their faces. Mason's held surprise and praise, like he was happy I'd destroyed a door and brought a piece of it to show. I didn't look at him for long because another hulking figure was staring at me. Mason's father. 

I didn't cower, I wasn't afraid. He didn't scare me. He looked me up and down, and nodded. He took in the leg in my hand. His gaze lingered on the leg and I threw it down onto the floor. 

The clatter reverberated through the near silent room. I was huffing breath when he said, 

"That might be a new record."