Before I Go: A dark and tense psychological crime thriller. by Marie Reyes (the false prince series txt) 📗

hold his breath for long and knew it would only be a matter of time before he would have to open his mouth.

“Everyone is always the same. They think they’ll go out like a man. They think they’re brave. But when it comes down to it, they just can’t face their own death. They beg, and they beg. This one guy even pissed himself. Like some little kid.” He chuckled. “You wouldn’t have done it. You would have pussied out.”

The feeling of being unable to breathe was indescribable. It wasn’t pain per se. Discomfort. Yet somehow, it was so visceral. His cheeks flushed red-hot as every cell of his body screamed for oxygen. His body started shaking. It happened, his mouth opened like a floodgate to let the air stream in and in that second, Samuel rammed the neck of the glass bottle into his mouth and tried to tip Michael’s head back as Che tightened his grip. The bitter liquid attacked his taste-buds making him gag.

Chapter Thirty

Before he even knew what was going on, Samuel pulled back and the bottle smashed against the hard floor. Josie hung off of Samuel, her arm wrapped around his neck. He ripped her off of his back and slammed her onto the floor with the precision and ease of a professional wrestler.

“Oh, Josie.” He stood above her, watching her struggle on the floor. “Maybe it was you I should have been keeping an eye on.” Che released Michael from his grip and approached Josie. He had switched to a handgun and pointed it down at her.

“Never mind. I was trying to do you a favor. I guess it’s time to get out of here.” Samuel disappeared to the front of the house, leaving them both with Che. Josie had got up from the floor and stood—stuck to the spot. “Did you miss me?” He came back with cable-ties and span Josie around and secured the plastic around her wrists. He chucked another cable-tie over to Che who grabbed Michael, slipped the tie over his hands and yanked it tight enough to make Michael wince, and within a minute it felt like his circulation was being cut off. He could feel the pulse beating, twitching, trying to get blood to his numb fingers. Che grabbed Michael’s pinkie finger and wrenched it, snapping it to the side, unleashing an agonized scream from Michael’s throat that drowned out the music blaring from the speakers. The intense pain ripped through him, bringing him to his knees.

***

They marched from the house into the night. As insects chirped and trees rustled, they followed the path to Samuel’s car. There was no use running. They were slower, weaker, and unarmed. They wouldn’t stand a chance. All they could do was let Samuel dictate their every action. An image slipped into Michael’s head. He imagined slamming Samuel’s head against the car, and pounding it into the metal again and again and again, until his face was nothing but a slippery, bloody mush. Somehow the thought made him feel better.

A weird sense of calm and drowsiness washed over him and wondered if the small amount of pentobarbital he had ingested had something to do with it. They were forced into the back of the car and told not to cause any trouble. The engine started, and the headlights flared into the darkness of the road in front. The low purr of the engine and the rocking movement as the car started was soothing, lulling, taking away the harshness of the outside world and into the cocoon of his mind.

“Michael.” Josie nudged him with her knee.

“What?” He widened his eyes to try to counteract the sleepiness that tried to take over him.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

“Brilliant. Why do you ask?” He was surprised he was able to muster sarcasm in his current state.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to—”

“It doesn’t even matter now.” He interrupted her. He didn’t want to talk about it. The way people talked about stuff like this made him cringe. People would go all high pitched like they were talking to a three-year-old.

Samuel’s eyes narrowed as he eyed them up through the rear-view mirror. “You better not be conspiring back there.”

Josie stopped talking, and Michael was almost glad. He wasn’t ready for this conversation. This is why he never told anyone in the first place. He was certain he would hear the standard platitudes: but there’s so much to live for, you can’t appreciate the good without the bad, permanent solution to a temporary problem. He agreed to the latter point in part. It was a permanent solution, hence its appeal. He disagreed, however, with the temporary problem part. What the fuck did they know? Just because life was easy for them. What right did they have to try to force him to continue living? They didn’t have to live his life, and he was certain, if they had, they would be singing a different tune. Michael bounced up in his chair, with no seatbelt to secure him, or free hands to steady himself. The bumps in the road tossed him around. The headlights of another car came from the opposite side of the road, and for a microsecond, he considered trying to get their attention, but if he tried, it wouldn’t end well. His head felt heavy, like a bowling ball balanced on his neck, gravity willing it to roll right off. He tried to lean back against the headrest, but his hands behind his back made it difficult. His hands were completely numb now like they had been dunked in ice-water, in contrast to his arms which pulsated with a burning sensation from being bent back in such an awkward position. Instead, he leaned his head to the side. It hammered against the window with every bump in the road, but he was too tired to care. He wondered if he cared about any of it anymore. None of this was his