37. Bindi #2
I am so goddamn tired.
Tired of being dragged around.
Tired of being a prize to be fought over.
Tired of being broken.
Tired of being used.
I am not a weapon. I am not a possession. I’m not to be controlled.
I’m Bindi fucking Vega. And I may not know what that last name fucking means. But for right fucking now, it means I can choose. I can choose what I want— who I want, and how I want them. And FUCK Anthony Santoro.
I lift my foot up and kick as hard as I can into Anthony’s knee, causing him to lift his hands off of me and stumble half a step.
“You want the truth, you piece of shit?” I grab my pistol that was under Jordyn’s leg and point it at his head. His head cocks, curious but smirking. I glare straight into his ratty, sunken eyes.
“I love him,” I say, my voice cracking. “I fucking love him. Not because he saved me, but because he claimed me, when no one else would.”
I don’t wait for the scumbag to say his final words as a villain deserves. I shoot once, my finger snapping back as Anthony’s chest explodes in a fiery bloom of red. He gasps, stumbling backward, stunned, his own gun flying from his hand.
“AAARRGH!” he howls and grabs at the wound with both hands. I barely keep the gun aimed as Anthony’s eyes go wide as blood floods through his fingers.
I fire again and it hits his forehead. His mouth gapes and his eyes cross, then he slumps, collapsing onto the floor in a pool of spreading crimson. His body convulses once, then completely stills.
My knees give out, my legs tremble, and I collapse, but Cassidy catches me, falling down to the floor with me. The gun slips from my hand. Holy shit. I . . . I think I just killed him.
“He’s dead, Bindi.”
I can’t even respond, all I do is shake, trying to process what happened. Anthony Santoro is dead. There’s a mess of blood on the motel carpet where he fell.
“Hey . . . Binx . . . Look at me.”
“I’m okay.” I nod frantically when he tells me to look at him, my head jerking against his chest, but I’m not okay.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again.
Because Anthony isn’t the only one who died tonight.
Some innocent part of me—some weak, desperate piece of me that still believed in saving—died with him.
And the girl that’s left behind? She’s someone a little closer to the monsters who made her.
After five years of clawing at my body, poisoning my mind, twisting every part of me until I didn’t know where he ended and I began, he’s finally gone.
I thought I’d feel relief.
I thought I’d feel free.
Instead, all I feel is hollow.
And under that hollow, buried so deep I almost can’t stand it, there’s something else.
Satisfaction?
It felt good .
Pulling the trigger felt good.
Watching him fall felt good.
A broken sound drags me back into the motel room.
Jordyn .
I crawl back over to the crevice between the bed and the motel wall where Jordyn is propped against the side, barely conscious now and clutching his shoulder. Blood pools beneath him. Fuck. Fuck. “Hey, hey, Look at me.” I slap the side of his face softly.
His eyes flutter open at my voice. “Bindi . . .” he breathes, a ghost of a smile appearing. “You . . . you okay? He didn’t hurt you?”
A strangled laugh escapes me. He’s worrying about me. “I’m fine. You’re the one with a fucking bullet hole.”
Cassidy walks over toward us, and I can now see the dark stain on his sleeve.
Blood.
“Cass!” I gasp.
He shakes his head. “Just a graze.”
I look around the room; it’s a fucking massacre. The door is nothing but swiss cheese, the furniture is shattered and torn to shreds. Past the curtained, but shattered, window are two other bodies and one of Anthony’s cars.
Cassidy inspects Jordyn’s shoulder. Jordyn groans but doesn’t resist. “Through-and-through. He’ll live.”
Jordyn manages a weak chuckle. “Takes . . . more than a little bullet . . to take me out,” he whispers, though pain has him gritting his teeth.
Relief makes me lightheaded for a moment. I press my forehead to Jordyn’s. “You idiot,” I sniffle, voice breaking. “What were you thinking, coming out here?”
Jordyn’s good hand shakily finds mine. “My job is to protect,” he jokes softly.
I choke a sob back. “Yeah, but you protect the Santoro’s, not me. ”
“Bindi, you’re my best fucking friend. If you think I’m not going to save you, then why the fuck did you break into my house every damn day.”
I let out a wet laugh. “Because you make the best grilled cheese!”
“The secret . . . havarti cheese . . .”
We both giggle.
Cassidy snorts. “Okay . . . you have about two seconds to step away from the dude before I kill him.”
I roll my eyes, backing away from Jordyn. “Cass, you’re insufferable.”
“Yes. And you’re mine.”
Jordyn blinks at Cassidy like he’s just noticing him. “So . . . you’re Cassidy,” he rasps. “Bindi’s knight in shining leather.”
Cassidy smirks. “Something like that.”
Jordyn’s gaze flicks to me, then back to Cassidy. Even bleeding out, my best friend can’t resist causing trouble. “You hurt her,” he murmurs, voice slurring slightly, “and I’ll sic a cartel on you, got it?”
“Oh, stop it!” I whisper, squeezing his hand, but Cassidy actually cracks a grin.
“You’ve got balls, threatening me when you can barely sit up.”
Jordyn sighs. His eyes flutter; he’s fading again.
“Hey, hey! Stay awake!”
“I’m . . . not checking out yet. Just resting my eyes.”
Cassidy curses under his breath. “We’ve gotta move. That shootout wasn’t exactly subtle . . . cops’ll be here any minute.” He digs into Jordyn’s jeans pocket for a phone and hands it to me. “Call whoever you trust to deal with this. We can’t be here when the sirens arrive.”
Jordyn’s lips move in a faint smile. “Speed dial . . . two . . . Ruslan,” he mutters.
Ruslan? I know the name, but it’s weird that Jordyn would want to call him. Though, I don’t care as long as the angry brute can help.
His deep voice picks up on the first ring. “Where?”
I blurt out the motel name and room number. “Jordyn’s been shot. We have . . . three dead bodies here. Jordyn got shot.” My voice sounds strangely calm, given the carnage around us.
“On my way,” the voice growls, then the call disconnects.
“Help’s coming.”
Without another word, Cassidy shoulders our duffel and quickly begins shoving our guns and any loose cash into it. I realize he’s wiping things down with a rag—clearing our prints. My brain is lagging behind everything; I just watch him blankly for a moment, numb and shivering.
Within minutes, headlights sweep across the window as a car screeches to a halt in front of our room. Cassidy snaps his gun up, ready.
But the vehicle’s door flies open and out charges a massive figure. In the flicker of neon I see a blond, muscle-bound man in a black leather jacket. He zeroes in on us, on Jordyn, and my heart lifts.
Without a word, the big man strides over and eases Jordyn off of the floor, lifting him like he weighs nothing.
“Baby . . .” Jordyn slurs, looping his good arm weakly around the man’s broad shoulders.
“I’m here.” His voice is rough, and though his expression is fierce, there’s a gentleness in how he cradles Jordyn against his chest. “I’ve got you.”
“Took you long . . . enough,” Jordyn jokes feebly, resting his head against him.
Ruslan looks at us and only gives a curt nod. “Go. I’ll handle this.”
I’m so drained I can only nod. Cassidy keeps his pistol lowered but watches Ruslan warily.
Jordyn must notice and he musters a faint grin as he pats Ruslan’s chest. “It’s okay. Told you my prince charming was somewhere. Turns out he was in Russia!”
A weak chuckle slips from my throat.
Ruslan is already moving, carrying Jordyn toward the idling car. Over his shoulder, Jordyn lifts his head and calls hoarsely, “Love you, girl. Don’t let this asshole drive you too crazy!”
He must mean Cassidy, because he waggles two fingers at me in a lazy wave and shoots a tired glare in Cassidy’s direction.
A tear slips down my cheek and I swallow hard. “I love you too,” I manage to croak.
Cassidy’s hand lands on my back, urging me toward our own car. “Time to go, Firefly.”
I allow Cassidy to guide my shell-shocked body across the lot to Anthony’s black Charger.
Cassidy yanks the passenger door open and practically lifts me into the seat when my legs threaten to give out. I’m suddenly so bone-tired I can barely swing my feet in. He tosses the duffel of cash in the back and then hops behind the wheel.
Cassidy slams the car into gear and I catch one last glimpse of Ruslan laying Jordyn gently in the backseat of his sedan. Ruslan looks our way and raises a hand in brief salute. Then we peel out, our tires spitting gravel as we tear out of the motel parking lot.
I brace my hand on the dash as we fishtail onto the highway. My breath leaves me in a long shuddering exhale as the motel’s neon sign recedes into darkness behind us.
Cassidy’s jaw is clenched as he drives, eyes darting between the rearview mirror and the road. Neither of us speaks. The only sound is the thunder of the engine as he pushes well past the speed limit. We escape into the night, leaving that nightmare in the dust.
Streetlights streak past in a blur. With the danger behind us, the adrenaline fueling me finally seeps away, leaving only cold numbness in its wake. Did all of that just happen? My mind can’t quite catch up to the reality of it.
In the dim glow of the dashboard, I stare down at my hands. They’re sticky with blood—some mine, from the gash on my forearm—but a lot of it is not mine. Anthony’s blood is drying in tacky swirls up to my elbows, while Jordyn’s blood is under my nails. My whole body feels coated in violence.
My stomach rebels. I crank the window down and lean out, emptying whatever’s left inside me onto the asphalt rushing below. The wind whips the bile from my lips and tears from my eyes. When the retching finally stops, I collapse back into the seat, shaking and choking on sobs.
“Bindi . . . talk to me. You hanging in there?”
I nod weakly, not trusting myself to speak yet. I press my forehead to the cool glass of the window, letting it soothe the feverish ache behind my eyes. Outside, there’s nothing but blackness and the faint blur of trees as we speed by.
I curl up, drawing my knees to my chest on the seat. I feel distant, like I’m floating somewhere outside my body, watching all of this happen.
Cassidy’s hand slides over and finds my thigh. I flinch at the initial touch—after all that, every nerve is raw—but then I realize it’s him. It’s just Cass.
I lay my hand on top of his. He gives a reassuring squeeze, and I feel a faint tremble in his fingers that matches my own. Neither of us speaks. What could we possibly say?
Anthony is dead. The thought has been echoing in my head, but now it truly sinks its teeth in. “He’s dead.”
Cassidy exhales, a long slow breath. “Yeah. He’s done,” he says quietly. Anthony will never come after me again.
I clutch Cassidy’s hand tighter. Disjointed images of the motel carnage flicker through my mind—Anthony’s crazed eyes when he saw me, the explosive spray of blood when I shot him.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to banish the visions, but they only come back clearer.
I let out a whimper, and Cassidy’s grip on my thigh tightens.
“He can’t hurt you anymore. I promise.”
I swallow hard and nod, wiping at the tears on my cheeks with my free hand.
We drive like that for a long time, two battered souls speeding through the night. Cassidy doesn’t let go of my hand, and I don’t let go of his.
Because we aren’t safe just yet. Not quite.