Page 60 of Fatal Scheme

“Ellie, right? Come on, let’s talk about this. I’d hate to stain that pretty blonde hair with your brain matter,” Massi taunts, and finally, she stops walking, slowly turning to face us.

“I didn’t want to do this! Someone approached me, saying they were going to hurt my mom if I didn’t deliver Carter by the end of today,” she sobs, and I race to Carter’s side, dragging the accomplice with me as she collapses to the ground.

“Both of you, walk.” Massi commands, his eyes shifting between our new victims, and a very drugged Carter.

“I’ve got you, baby girl. Come on,” I whisper, following the leader as sirens begin to wail in the background, but we’ll be long gone before they reach us.

She’s back in my arms, unconscious but alive, and I silently thank every God I can think of for allowing me to have her back safely.

Massi and I finally make eye contact, and without a word, I can see the murderous look on his face, one I’ve seen countless times, but tonight, every ounce of the beast is going to be unleashed on these poor suckers who came after the one thing we’d die to protect.

He slams the front door open, some kids still laying on the ground, most of them cleared out by now, likely taking the back exit, and I follow Massi until we reach a metal door, his fingerprints unlocking it as he motions the gun toward the stairs.

“Move. Now.” He waits as they steal a glance, both Ellie and her friend looking like they’re going to pass out, but she takes the first steps, while the man follows.

“Hey, my little ice princess. We’re going to get you better, okay? We’re going to find out what the fuck is happening, I promise,” he says softly, kissing her cheek before I carry her down the stairs, her head resting on my shoulder.

Whatever they gave her is strong and fast-acting, but we keep medical supplies down here, the basement serving as our personal playground.

To the left, we have a small home gym, equipped with weights of all sizes, a punching bag, and a treadmill.

In the middle, we set up a relaxation area, a couch and small TV line one wall, while the other houses cabinets full of medicine and first aid supplies.

The third room is where things get dark, the walls and floor are stainless steel, resembling an operating room.

There are chains, various tools, and one lone table in the middle, making this the torture room – as Massi so graciously calls it.

Once we’re all through, he activates the lock, flicking the fluorescent overhead lights on, a very loud buzzing echoing off the concrete walls as Ellie begins to cry, likely seeing what the rest of the night has in store for her.

I’ll leave the torture to my brother – his maniacal laugh already ringing in my ears – instead, taking care of Carter and nursing her back to health. I prop her up on the sofa, covering her with a throw blanket while I dig through the cabinets, looking for narcan and fluids.

When she wakes up, she’ll feel like she has a nasty hangover, but we need to flush these drugs out of her system first and foremost.

Luckily, we have an IV stand, bags of saline, and a heavy stash of narcan, never knowing when you’ll need it, especially around these frat kids.

After having to patch Massi up so many times, I’m basically a pro at inserting an IV, but still, the sight of blood turns my stomach, Carter barely moving as I stick a needle into the protruding vein in her arm.

Once the fluids are set, I open the narcan, pressing the tip into her nostril, pushing to release the nasal spray.

After a few moments, she starts to stir, her heavy eyes opening and shutting as the medication works its way through her system.

“Hey, baby girl. It’s me, you’re okay.” I stroke her hair, the messy curls framing her face, falling out of the bun she’d set on top of her head earlier.

“Tyson. She … she drugged … me,” she stutters, her words coming out slow, like she’s still a bit high from whatever was given to her.

“I know, we’ve got her. Massi’s got her,” I say, and she starts to stir, but I press her back into the couch, not letting her get up yet.

“You’re attached to an IV, so let’s just rest up a bit, okay? You’re going to feel nasty if we don’t,” I explain, and she opens her eyes, looking down at the needle in her arm.

“Fuck me. I’m so sorry, Tyson. I thought I could trust her.” She scoots until I lift her up, her body going limp as I place her on my lap, her head resting in the crook of my neck.

We’re both quiet, the sounds of crying, screaming, and yelling coming from the room next door, but down here, everything is sound-proofed, and nobody upstairs can hear a thing.

Massi’s doing what he does best – extracting information – and I know that he’ll get to the bottom of who wanted Carter, the why likely being our main focus moving forward.

It has to be the Ricci’s, looking to hit us below the belt, and I wouldn’t put it past them to have been watching her with us over the last few months.

“I’ve never had a real friend,” she sighs, the color coming back into her face as she sits up, looking into my eyes.