Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
“But she is part of this.” She whimpers when his hand brushes against her chest before taking hold of one of her tits and squeezing. “How does it feel? Knowing there’s nothing you can do. I’m going to fuck her. I’m going to take her right in front of you.”
“Not if I kill you first.”
“And if I pull this trigger?” He jams the gun against her head, and she whimpers again. The sound is like touching a match to gunpowder. I want nothing more than to watch him die. “That’s all it would take. You should know that by now.”
I don’t have a shot. There isn’t enough room. I could easily hit her. How can I get him away from her? Someone must have heard the shot. Have they called the police? Is anyone even here?
“I didn’t know you were there. At the motel.” This is all I can do. Distract him, and hope he makes a wrong move that gives me a chance. “I didn’t know. I was given a name and a location. That was it.”
“You expect me to feel sorry for you?” His laughter is tight, high-pitched, and crazy. “Try again.”
“I’m just saying. I’m sorry you had to see that. And I’m sorry for whatever you went through after, I really am. But you have to know the man I killed—your dad—wasn’t a saint either. He made some pretty bad choices.”
“So he deserved to die?” He holds her a little tighter, squeezing harder. “All because her old man said he should?”
“I know how it sounds. I do.” I inch closer to them, almost holding my breath. “You want to punish someone, then take it out on me. Here and now. You wanna beat the shit out of me, you wanna beat me to death even, fine. But leave her out of it.”
“No. That’s not going to happen. Haven’t you been listening?” He sticks out his tongue and runs it along her earlobe, and all I see is rage. Blinding, white-hot rage.
Something has to end this.
And all of a sudden, I think I know what it will be.
I look Mia in the eye. Understand me. Just this once. “Sandbag.”
“What?” Dean snaps.
He doesn’t have to wait long to find out.
Mia slumps like she fainted. Her legs are like jelly, knees loose. It’s enough for Dean to react in surprise.
Which is all I need, even though my aim’s off slightly, thanks to him bending to pull Mia back to her feet. The shot hits the bicep of his dominant arm—he drops his gun, grabbing his arm with the other hand. Mia drops to the floor, safe for the moment.
Before I can fire again, he throws himself at me, hitting me low, knocking me off balance. I manage to maintain my hold on the Glock. He grabs my wrist, twisting it, trying to loosen my grip.
And all through this, he screams. Roars. It’s pain, it’s rage, it’s years of wishing. Fantasizing about what he’d do if he ever got a hold of me. This isn’t the way it played out in his head.
I’d feel sorry for him if he hadn’t made the mistake of bringing Mia into it. That, I can’t forgive. When I bring the gun across his face and split the skin over his cheekbone, I feel no remorse. His head snaps to one side, and he staggers backward, his body reacting to the force behind my backhanded blow.
I used enough force to send him through the glass doors to the balcony.
Enough force to make him trip backward over the metal doorframe, still screaming, arms pinwheeling wildly. For one moment, the inexplicable impulse to stop him throws me forward, arms outstretched. But it’s too late anyway.
He stops screaming on impact with the concrete outside the building’s entrance.
I run for the balcony and lean over the railing. Mia lets out a broken sob behind me. “Is he—?”
He landed on his stomach, but he’s looking up at me. That’s all I need to see. “He’s dead.” I can’t muster up sympathy, even if I’m the one who set his life on its path.
More important is the weeping girl on the living room floor, hands covering her face. I fall to my knees at her side and gather her in my arms. She’s safe. She’s alive. “Did he hurt you? Did he—?”
She shakes her head, but a fresh sob makes me think otherwise. “He wanted to. Tried. I got away.”
Thank God. I close my eyes, my cheek against the top of her head. “I’m so sorry for everything. For not telling the truth so you could decide on your own whether you wanted to cut yourself off from your father. I shouldn’t have kept that secret for him. You don’t know how much I—”
“It doesn’t matter now.” Her arms lock around my neck. “It doesn’t matter.”