Chapter 17
LAUREL
I refused to shed a tear over Jason Dunn. He had paid for my time on the floor, and for a moment it made me able to cope with the disaster that was my life. But the sweet gesture only made me bitter now.
Calling his bluff had proven he was a liar, but there wasn’t any victory in that.
I changed into my pajamas, crawled into bed, and squeezed my eyes shut, leaving the lights on. Maybe it would save me from the darkness threatening to overtake everything. I felt so unbelievably alone.
Sleep would not come, and I turned on the bed, restless for a long time.
Eventually, there was soft knock at my door, but I ignored it. I was sure it was him, and my resolve to stay off the Jason merry-go-round was powerfully strong. He knocked louder the second time.
There really was no point in not answering, other than it made me feel better. He had a key.
So it wasn’t surprising when there was the mechanical click of the lock, the door swung open, and Jason stepped in. He looked . . . nervous.
For the second time in two days, I told him to get out and he ignored me, shutting the door behind him.
“I am a liar.”
I sat up, causing the covers to gather around my lap as I stared at him. Judging by his anxious expression, more was coming, but he hesitated.
“I do want you.” It was the first time I’d heard his voice unsteady. “Badly. But we can’t.”
I let out a sigh that was a mixture of relief and sadness. “I know.”
“Do you?” He approached the bed, looking adrift in his emotions. “If we’d met somehow under different circumstances, maybe—”
“Please, don’t.” I didn’t want to hear about what-ifs. Didn’t want to know what I couldn’t have. “Thank you for saying it, though.”
He nodded soberly. After a moment of silence, he asked the question we were both wondering. “Are we . . . okay?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but an enormous explosion thundered from down the hall. It was a booming sound of destruction whose blast shook the windows and floor.
“What was that?” I shrieked.
He drew his gun, and it was like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “It sounded like a grenade.”
Shock froze me in place, but not him. He kept the barrel of his gun trained on the door even as he moved to pull two bulletproof vests from the closet.
“Bathroom.” His word was urgent and forceful and broke my stupor.
I leapt out of bed, grabbed the vests he extended toward me, and sprinted into the small room, my feet cold on the tile floor. Once inside, I could see his reflection in the mirror. He threw the security latch on the main door, flipped off the lights, and followed me in.
Anxiety made it impossible to breathe.
It was eerily quiet outside, so when he clicked the flimsy lock on the bathroom door, it made me flinch.
He didn’t notice and instead grabbed the larger of the two vests from my shaking hands.
His gaze stayed fixed on the bathroom door, breaking his concentration for only a single moment while he slipped the vest over his head.
Jason made it look easy, but getting the bulky bulletproof vest on was a struggle.
Panic had rendered my hands useless. My floundering drew his focus, and when he glanced over, he saw my problem and yanked my vest down with no concern if it hurt.
He had to use both hands, one still gripping his gun, to cinch it closed.
“Get down in the tub.”
My bare feet squeaked on the icy porcelain.
There wasn’t time for him to explain, so I followed his orders without question or hesitation.
He slapped the lights off, plunging us into darkness, and stepped into the tub.
For being so large, it was startling how quickly and efficiently he could move.
He dropped down to cram in beside me, and metal rollers squealed as he drew the curtain closed.
He probably barely fit in the tub on his own, so it was much worse with me beside him. We were on our sides, both facing the curtain, which put him between me and the door. My hands curled around the shoulder straps of his vest, desperate for something to cling to.
“Whatever happens,” he said hushed and urgently, “you stay with me. Got it?”
“Got it,” I breathed.
In the dark, there was nothing to do but wait and listen.
Sounds of gunfire erupted from down the corridor, and my heart stopped. I was going to die in a motel bathroom.
At least you won’t die alone.
It sounded as if people were going door by door. Jason was as still as a statue. Perhaps he was running different scenarios, trying to determine the one for maximum success, one where we didn’t both end up filled with holes.
Shouting just outside the door resulted in a large volley of shooting.
“Get ready,” he whispered.
I took one hand off his shoulder and used it to cover my mouth, to stifle any screams I might make. I couldn’t see much in the dark of the bathroom and through the shower curtain, but I closed my eyes anyway.
Wood splintered under a burst of gunfire that was followed by the sound of the main door breaking down. I had no idea how many men there were, but it had to be a team.
A set of soft thumps rang out, like a ball bouncing across the carpet into the bedroom.
The bathroom door saved us from the stunning effects of the flash bang. Even behind closed eyes, I could see the strobe-like flash and jumped at its powerful concussion. The handle to the bathroom jiggled as someone tried to enter and found it locked.
Everything moved too quickly, and I had to fight for each breath.
The lock shattered and flew across the room, bits of twisted metal scattering onto the tile.
The door swung open. Jason rolled on his back, flattening me painfully beneath him to give me maximum protective coverage.
The man who entered was in tactical gear, including a headlight that cast an eerie glow across the opaque shower curtain.
A hand reached out to draw it back, but Jason didn’t give him a chance.
He aimed below the headlight and fired once. The man fell, pulling the curtain down with him, his blood splattering the mirror.
I could hear two more of them in the bedroom.
“She’s in there,” one of them said.
“Let’s give her an invitation to come out,” the other replied.
The ping of metal on tile was followed by the sound of a can rolling toward the tub.
“Ears!” Jason yelled, but I wasn’t quick enough to respond.
Going from the dark to the flash was like suddenly being inside the sun. And the noise . . . there was no way to describe it. Pain seared into my brain, making me wince in agony.
As soon as it was over, I was sure someone had wedged an entire bag of padding wool in my ears. I blinked, unable to really see, and—
Fresh panic seized me when I realized Jason’s weight was gone. There were vibrations of gunfire as chunks of tile and drywall rained down, filling the tub, and I heard a woman screaming in the distance.
Wait, no. Those screams were in my own voice.
A pair of hands hauled me up by the shoulders of my vest—hands that were decidedly not Jason’s. I kicked, connecting with the man’s stomach, and sent him flying back into the counter. I tried to run, but the floor was slippery with blood.
I fell hard, halfway through the doorway.
Shapes and colors returned. The room was dim, but light from outside streamed in through the destroyed door. In my blurriness, I could see two men. The smaller of the two I didn’t recognize, and he seemed to lack the strength and speed of the man he was wrestling with.
Jason pummeled the smaller man with such force, I half expected the guy’s face to cave in.
A hand latched down on my hair and drew my head back painfully, only to drive it forcefully into the carpet. Everything went red, and I tasted blood in my mouth as I bit down on my tongue.
“Get up, bitch,” my attacker barked, releasing his hold on my hair and replacing it with the barrel of his gun.
I wasn’t even given time to obey. The man flipped me onto my back and yanked me up by the arm, drawing a pained cry from my throat. His face was lopsided and full of rage, and it made me struggle harder. But I couldn’t get my feet under me as he dragged me toward the broken door.
“No, no!” I fought against the vise-like hand locked on my arm. “Jason!”
There was another set of hands on me then.
It made it so much easier for the men to pull me along.
Jason must have been too focused on what he was doing to hear me.
He reared back, and then his fist connected with the man’s jaw in a stomach-turning crunch that announced it had been broken, at least somewhere.
“Jason!”
He spun to see the two men dragging me away, blood trailing from my mouth while screaming his name.
He launched forward, his back turned on the man he’d just fought—who he hadn’t realized was only down and not out.
The wounded man scrambled to the far wall to retrieve his gun and fumbled to raise it.
No, I opened my mouth to scream, but I wasn’t fast enough.
The man fired.
The impact of the bullet kicked Jason’s body forward, so I only got a glimpse of his pain-filled eyes before he fell face-first to the carpet . . .
Where he lay unmoving.
As if the vest had done nothing and he was dead.
It was the last thing I saw as the men yanked me through the broken door and into the dimly lit corridor.