Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter 34
SIENNA
MY EYES FALL ON ANTHONY as he looms in the doorway, pointing a gun with a silencer on it. Sean is collapsed behind him on top of the guard.
My first reaction—besides my chest caving in with pure terror—is to dart in front of Declan, putting myself in the path of any more bullets. Declan tries to resist and push me behind him, so I say firmly, “No. He wouldn’t shoot me.”
Anthony dips a shoulder and lowers the gun. “My wife is good at thinking on her feet. Guess that’s why I married her.”
“Wife?” Declan says, like he just tasted something bitter.
Anthony walks to the dresser and picks up the marriage license. He tucks it into his jacket, turning his lazy gaze at Declan. He’s the epitome of calm, an immovable tree in a hurricane, but I know him; anger is boiling just under the surface like a volcano about to erupt.
“Thought I told you not to touch what’s fucking mine .”
Declan scoffs, his demeanor just as calm and simmering as Anthony. “I’ve been wondering,” he says, “what the emails have been about. Seems it’s just a child throwing a tantrum.”
I’m not sure what he’s talking about, but I keep myself in front of him when he tries to get around me again. “No,” I whisper. Then I tremble.
God, why can’t I be collected and confident like these two? They’re the ones about to kill each other, yet I’m the one falling to pieces?
Anthony laughs and checks the magazine in his gun. Clicking it back into place, he says, “After I kill you, I’ll have fun ruining your company. First, everyone will think you’re a psychopath who murdered his family. I’ll throw in some embezzlement, make it look like you committed suicide, then the new CEO of your company will be my next target. I won’t stop until NexaProtect no longer exists.” He grins like a kid on Christmas morning. “Just like you.”
As I watch these two men snarl at each other, something suddenly clicks in my head. “Y-you didn’t have a job from Victor,” I say to Anthony.
“Oh, I did, baby,” he says. “But when Declan’s other bodyguard showed up, I gave my men the wrong date. I had a feeling your White Knight would be coming. Think I’d miss that? It wasn’t hard to switch my security system to his company, so I’d know exactly when he was coming.”
Declan growls beside me.
“Then it was just a matter of setting the trap and waiting to pounce,” Anthony continues. His icy gaze falls on me. “And the shit you’ve been trying to pull…Honestly, Margaret, I thought I taught you to play people better than that. It’s clear from your body language you don’t want to move on and ‘focus on us.’ But you’ll get there. You’re my wife.” He waves the gun. “Now get out of the way, baby. Don’t want blood on that beautiful face.”
Anthony makes me feel foolish because he always seems to be one step ahead. But fuck him. I back up into Declan, spreading my arms out and trying to put as much of my body in front of him as I can. I even stand on my tiptoes, trying to get closer to Declan’s height.
“Last chance,” Anthony says, pointing the gun at Declan’s head, which is towering over mine. If he wasn’t so tall, it’d be easier to shield him. Anthony clicks his tongue. “You know I’m an excellent shot. I could’ve killed him earlier when he had his tongue down your fucking throat, but call me sentimental. I like to look a man in the eyes when I send him to hell.”
What happens next is so fast, I don’t have time to react.
Declan shoves me to the side, ducks out of the gun’s path, and rushes Anthony.
As I’m stumbling toward my bed, Anthony fires. The bullet zips into the wall, and Declan’s shoulder rams into Anthony’s chest.
Both men tumble, crashing into the dresser. They exchange blows, grunting and grappling and flinging fists. I can barely tell what’s happening, but then Declan wrestles Anthony to the floor. He tries to pull out a gun, but Anthony wrestles it away and it slides into the hallway. Declan punches him in the jaw before Anthony twists out of his grasp and hits Declan in the stomach.
Declan groans.
Then I see it: Anthony’s gun.
It’s on the floor a few feet away from me.
I’ve never been good with a gun, but I’ve used one a few times at a gun range.
What if I hit Declan?
The men are still on the floor, grappling, and Anthony gets a hand behind his back. He yanks a knife from his belt, slashes at Declan’s throat, but Declan catches his wrist.
Anthony yanks free and stabs the knife in Declan’s thigh, the same leg with the bullet wound.
There must be a lot of adrenaline coursing through Declan’s veins because he only grunts and tries to strangle Anthony, pinning him to the floor and digging his hands into Anthony’s throat.
It’s clear Declan is stronger, and a great fighter, but Anthony is calculated. I’ve seen him take down men twice as big as Declan, and he always seems to have an unlimited supply of weapons hidden on his body.
I glance at the gun again since Anthony is completely distracted and not paying attention to me.
Maybe I’ll fail. I might hit the wall. Or Declan.
God, I don’t want to hit Declan.
But I can either let others control my fate, or I can take a chance.
Take control and save myself.
Stop the wolf once and for all.
Do I have the strength to do that?
My entire life, I’ve been focused on escape—escape from my parents, escape from my pain, escape from Anthony, from my past, my failures, my insecurities.
I’m just so fucking tired of running, hiding, fearing for my life and sanity. Tired of being caged and treated like Anthony’s property when I don’t want to be his.
If I don’t end this now, he’ll follow me.
He’ll watch me for the rest of my life.
I need this all to end.
I’m so tired…
As the two men struggle to their feet, still grappling and locked in battle, I lunge for the gun. Neither of them notices. Declan gets an opening and punches Anthony in the jaw. Anthony stumbles back a few inches, putting space between him and Declan.
I don’t blink.
I fire.
Anthony sucks in a sharp breath and groans. He stumbles back a few more steps, touching his side where blood is flowing from the bullet wound. His eyes dart to mine, his face swollen and his cheeks beginning to purple from Declan’s punches.
For only a second, his skin seems to become translucent, showing me all the tiny capillaries underneath, all the cells and veins and muscle and bones that weave together to give him life—that underneath the violence and obsession and cruelty, he’s just a lost little boy wanting to be seen. Understood.
But it’s gone before I can even really see it.
He groans again, smirking like he still has the upper hand. “You fucking bitch.” He falls against the wall next to the door and slides down, his breaths coming in sharp, ragged bursts.
Declan limps to me as fast as he can. His face is also swollen and bruised. He looks me over for any injuries. “Are you okay?”
I nod, but my hand is shaking so badly I’m about to drop the gun. He takes it from me, puts the safety on, and then tucks it in his belt.
I glance down at his bloody leg and the knife handle jutting from his thigh. I reach a shaky hand toward it, but he stops me.
“Leave it,” he says, wincing and hissing from the pain of shifting his weight. He bites out, “It’s probably halting the blood loss.”
Barely aware of what I’m doing because waves of tremors keep coursing through me, I move to my closet and grab a few thin dresses. Then I tear off strips of fabric to use as a tourniquet for his injured leg.
“Thank you,” Declan says, but I shake my head.
I should be thanking him, not the other way around.
Once I’m done tying the fabric as tight as I can, I glance at Anthony. His gaze is unfocused, but he seems to be watching me. For the first time in years, I see the shadow of that young, sweet teenage boy who approached me one day in the park. I had been crying silently, pretending I was sketching.
He didn’t seem uncomfortable about being near a girl who was sobbing; he just sat down on the grass and crossed his willowy legs. Then he didn’t say anything for a while—didn’t ask what was wrong or try to comfort me. Just sat and gave me company, watching my hand as I sketched.
I was sobbing too much to care that some strange boy was lingering around.
Finally, he asked, “Who should I beat up?”
That startled me enough to stop crying. I sniffed and wiped my face with my shirt collar. “What?”
“The person who made you cry. I’ll beat them up for you.”
I gave him a tiny smile. “My parents. You going to beat them up?”
He leaned back, resting his palms on the grass behind him. “Hmm, sure, I can do that. But afterwards, will you help beat up mine?”
I laughed.
It was the first time my heart did a little flip for someone.
Declan touches my shoulder and I flinch. “We need to go,” he says.
I nod as I continue to stare at Anthony. Blood soaks his shirt. Blood pooling around him on the floor.
“Go where?” I ask softly. “I’m worried about Anthony’s boss, Victor. He might try to find me.”
“Naw,” Anthony gurgles. He spits blood from his mouth, then grins with red teeth. “Naw, my old man doesn’t give a shit this time.”
My mouth falls open because it feels like a lightning bolt just struck me. “He’s your father?”
“You didn’t figure that out by now? I’m the bastard son he never wanted. Why’d you think I understood you so well?” He runs a bloody hand through his hair, like he’s still trying to look cool despite the injuries. “I got him to leave you alone for what you did before. He’ll honor that. But he made it clear he doesn’t care this time. You haven’t done anything recent to him, and if I die, he’ll be happy. It’s what he’s always wanted. Less for him to deal with.” He coughs. “You know…think you just freed me.”
Declan nudges me toward the door. “We should really go.”
I nod again. Years of Anthony’s behavior make more sense now, though it’s still not an excuse for what he did.
Part of Margaret still feels bad for him, getting stuck with a father like Victor.
I wish things could’ve ended differently for both of us.
Hooking Declan’s arm over my shoulders so I can help support him as he limps, I take a few steps toward the door.
We pass by Anthony, and he grabs my wrist. “Wait, baby. Just another minute. I want to look at you…another minute. You’re so beautiful.”
I don’t owe him anything, but Margaret waits.
“Did you forget what you told me?” he asks, holding my wrist loosely, as if it’s taking all of his energy to keep talking. “Remember that day? When we met. You had the prettiest golden hair, but you looked like…like some badass rocker chick. And…and you told me you’d hang out with me if I bought you dinner and we could talk about…about beating up your parents.” A corner of his mouth lifts, his eyes crinkling. “You chickened out at the last minute. Never did get to beat those bastards. But baby…” His head lolls down for a moment and he groans.
When he looks back up, his normally olive skin is pale and blue. “Baby, later that day…you said, ‘I’m just looking for where I belong. Everyone has to belong somewhere.’ And I said, ‘You belong with me.’ I said that, day one, and you thought it was a pickup line. But that was always the truth.” He touches his chest. “Here. You belonged here. You just needed to stay with me…I needed…What I never said…I was looking for someone to love. I wanted to be needed like that. Be important to somebody. Why wouldn’t you accept it? Just wanted to love you. I love you, Magpie. I always…The only times in my life I haven’t felt alone were with you.” He releases my wrist.
A tear rolls down my cheek. “Why couldn’t you just let me go?” I ask. “Then you wouldn’t be like this.”
“You don’t abandon the things you love.”
Things. Like I’m a possession, not a person.
“I don’t think you know what real love is.”
He rests his head on the wall. “Maybe you’re right.” Then, with a limp, shaky hand, he reaches into his jacket for the marriage license. “But I’ll prove it.” He tries to tear it, but his grip is too weak.
I reach down and do it for him. The pieces fall to the floor beside him, soaking up his blood.
“See, baby? Love you. This asshole better appreciate…appreciate this gift I’m giving him…” His eyes close. His chest is still rising and falling with breath, but I don’t know if he’s aware of anything anymore.
I finally step into the hallway with Declan.
Goodbye, Anthony.
Declan tries to use his good leg to bend down and check on Sean, but he’s struggling.
“No, I’ll do it,” I say, helping him lean against the wall. “Sean was with you all along?”
“Yeah,” Declan says through a groan, pain heavy in his voice. “I wouldn’t have made it this far without him. I owe him my life.”
Bending, I press my fingers to Sean’s neck. He has a weak pulse. I check him over: he doesn’t have any bullet wounds, but there’s a big welt on his head, probably where Anthony struck him. I shake him as hard as I can. Thankfully, he wakes up.
He’s very out of it, but I help him to his feet. The three of us hobble down the hallway, and I try to support Declan’s weight as much as I can as he limps along.
Once we’re outside, we get some very concerned stares from a few passersby.
“That’s ours,” Declan says, gesturing at a black SUV parked across the street.
Sean and I are helping Declan into the back when a loud boom rattles my senses.
I gasp as Sean yanks me into his chest, covering me and spinning me away from the explosion. I peek over his shoulder to see flames shooting from the top of Anthony’s house.
“Why would he—” I cry out. “Why not just call an ambulance to—”
“I don’t know,” Declan says, taking my hand. “I don’t know.”
Shedding a few tears, I return my focus to getting Declan and Sean to the hospital; Anthony made his choice. I can’t linger on it.
I try to walk to the driver’s side, but Sean stops me.
“I’ll drive,” he says weakly.
Wiping my damp cheeks, I give him a firm look. “No. You could have a concussion. I don’t know why men are so stubborn, but get in the passenger side.”
His gaze challenges me for a second before his body hunches and he follows my command. I think I hear Declan chuckle.
Once we’re all fastened in, I put the car in gear and pull away from the curb. I glance at the flames spreading over Anthony’s house; they’re so large I swear I can feel the heat. In the rearview mirror, I watch for as long as I can, until I turn a corner and can no longer see the building.
After that, every few seconds, I glance at the dark plumes of smoke lingering in the sky.
This time, they won’t follow me.
They’ll fade.
Finally, they’ll fade.