Mine To Claim

Maya's pov

I grunt, rolling to the other side of the bed ducking my head under the pillow. The banging on my door intensifies with each minute, each thud sharper and more insistent. With a frustrated sigh, I shove the stack of books off my bed, shuffling for my phone under the covers. Coming out empty-handed I step off the bed; the polished floor biting at my bare feet. The pounding on my door grew louder and by now I wanted to kill whoever was on the other side. If it's another drunk who has confused his house number again, I will lose it.

I grabbed the baseball bat that I had loaned from Mr Crawmey down stairs since it was either that or a gun that had a body count on it, and that was not an option. I reach the living room tripping over a can of coke and before I can regain my balance the door flies open.

Silhouettes of men stand at the door, their clothes covered in dirt and blood. Two of them hold an injured man, dripping blood on the rug my mother hand-sewn for me. One flicks the dainty light bulb on, giving me a picture-perfect view of them. Their gazes flick to me, their brotherhood shown from their matching clothes and the brute force they exude. My heart races Jenny's constant warning about this place surfacing.

“What do you want?” I asked, swinging the bat at them. Chase appears behind them, his thin frame a huge contrast to the men he brought to my house. Anger surges beneath my skin, the countless number of times I've told him not to come here not getting lost on me.

“Maya this man is hurt I need you to help him,” he says, pointing to the guy who is still dripping blood.

“Does my house look like a freaking hospital?” I ask, pointing the bat at them.

“No, but you work there so —”

“I thought I told you to stop coming here,” I snapped, my voice trembling. Another man steps from behind them, holding a barrel in his hand. Unlike the others his charismatic stance and cunning eyes tell me he is the leader.

“You are going to patch him up this instant,” he growls. I start moving back to my bedroom ready to make a run for it.

“Now,” he adds, mirth dancing in his eyes.

“I'm not… that kind of doctor,” I stammer.

He snickers, taking large strides towards me. “I don't care,” he spits. “You are going to do it whether you like it or not.”

“I don't know how to do that kind of procedure I'm a —”

He yanks my arm, his fingers circling my arm in a possessive manner. “You have three seconds to decide one, two —”

“I will, I will do it.”

I step away from him, massaging my arm. My pulse thuds in my ears, as I look at the bruises his grip left. They place the injured guy on the couch, smears of red getting stuck on the fabric.

“Maya just do what he says,” Chase urges, fear swimming in his eyes. The need to shout at him burns at my throat. Before I could respond a bullet sizzled through the air, landing directly between his skull. His body falls limp on the floor, blood pooling beneath his head. My scream is stuck in my throat replaced by a choking gasp.

“Do you want to continue talking or do as I say?” He asks, the gun pointed at me.

I move towards the injured man, my words tangling in my throat. “Uh, uh I will .. I need a knife and alcohol.”

“They are in the kitchen. I will go get them,” I add, hoping I can get some air.

“No,” he says. He points to one of the guys and he comes back with the items. “I need a belt,” I murmured.

“What?”

“I need a belt,” I snap, looking at the wound on his leg. One of the men gives it to me and I wrap it tightly around his leg.

Blood seeps between my fingers, warm and sticky. “This is bad,” I mutter, the words barely audible over the pounding in my ears. I cauterize the knife and dig my fingers inside the wound. “Help me turn him over,” I plead.

“Why?” The man asks, his stare firm. “I need to check for an exit wound,” I murmured, unsure of what I was doing.

They help me turn him over and there's an opening. “That's good right,” I whisper, trying to remember everything I had learned on first aid.

“What did you do to him?” He asks, looking at the blood oozing from his mouth. This is bad. “Nothing, nothing he is awake.”

I turn him over to prevent him from choking. “I have a bandage in my room, in the black bag swung on the wall.”

One-off the minions return with it and I wrap it tightly around his waist. The guy looks pale, his drowsy eyes looking at me.

“He still needs a hospital; he could have an infection,” I add, hoping he sees the severity of the situation. Shards of the bullet could still be stuck inside his stomach and he has lost a lot of blood.

“He will be fine, he has been through worse.”

I sigh, moving to protest but he points the gun at me before he is distracted by the sounds of sirens. “The police,” one of the men says, looking through the window.

“They are probably looking for us,” the other one adds.

“Turn off the lights and take Holden to the room,” the leader orders, the place goes black the only light coming from the small window. My stomach churns as I watch them drag Chase's body to the closet.

“You,” he points, looking at me. “Come,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I stand my legs weak. “When those police officers knock, you're going to pretend you just woke up and when they ask if you have heard anything you are going to say no, you will wish them good night since I will be behind that door when you try anything funny. Bam,” he says, motioning how he will shoot us.

I nod tears pricking my eyes. “Go cover yourself, you have blood all over you.” I drag myself to the room changing into a sweatshirt and a pair of trousers.

The men sit at a corner like menacing creatures ready to pound at their prey, who unfortunately happens to be me. The man pulls me to his side, when a knock echoes through the room. “Let's see how much you want to live.” he says, an ugly smirk set on his face.

I open the door rubbing my eyes. Two police officers stand there, their faces hard. “Sorry to disturb you Mum, but we have some questions,” one of them says.

I rub my eyes and let out a dragged yawn.

“About?”

“Have you heard or seen several men walking through here?” One asks.

I shake my head letting out a fake yawn.

“ Why?”

The officer's gaze lingers on the rug, my heart races as I shift my weight trying to cover the smears of blood on it. “Are you sure you haven't seen anyone?” He presses, his eyes sifting through the dark house.

“No, just me and my bed.” His eyes go back to the rug.

“Is that all? “ I ask. ”I have an early shift tomorrow.”

They nod, and I don't waste time slamming the door. The man smiles, kissing the butt of his gun. “Thought for a while there I would have some fun,” he says.

“You're sick,” I whisper.

“What did you just say?”

My chest quickens. “Nothing.”

“Stay here and don't move,” he orders, disappearing through the door.

I wipe my palms over the fabric of my sweatshirt, every instinct inside of me telling me to run. Men like this don't let anyone live, I have seen their faces, they killed Chase In Front of me. What prevents them from killing me too?

My steps are light as I walk to the door, my hands shaking as I turn the knob.

“What are you doing?” The voice asks, freezing me in place.