Chapter 57 - Nick #2
Diablo lifted the gun, leveling it at my chest, and I lunged. It all felt like it happened in slow motion when I grabbed the edge of the bar, using it for leverage as I kicked out. My foot slammed into his wrist, sending the gun wide through the air.
The shot cracked through the restaurant, and glass exploded behind me.
Melanie screamed. Diablo cursed, swinging at me with his free hand.
I ducked under it, driving my elbow into his jaw.
The impact sent him stumbling, but he wasn’t down.
Not yet. I grabbed for the gun, but he yanked me back.
And we struggled for a few seconds before his knee rammed into my gut, the pain blooming sharp and fast, but the pain was just another enemy to kill.
I twisted, slamming his hand against the bar, forcing his fingers open.
The Glock hit the floor, skidding out of reach.
Diablo snarled, tried to swing again—I ducked.
I drove him backward, slamming his spine against the bar’s edge.
He groaned, but the bastard was solid muscle. Taking him down wouldn’t be easy.
Then I saw her.
Melanie. She stepped into view.
Shit. No.
The split second of distraction cost me. Diablo’s fist connected with my jaw, snapping my head sideways. Stars burst behind my eyes.
And then—
Click.
The unmistakable sound of a slide being racked.
Everything stopped.
Diablo and I both turned our heads at the same time.
Melanie stood there.
Gun raised.
Hands steady.
Her chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, but her eyes burned with fury.
“You know,” she said, voice cold as steel, “I’m not a big fan of my stepdad. So maybe if I pretend you’re him, I can blow your head off without hesitation. You both deserve to rot in hell anyway.”
I’d swear she was a pro if I didn't know better. Melanie stood grounded, the expression on her face was fierce, and I wondered if she really was picturing her stepdad, and what it would feel like to shoot him.
Diablo let out a sharp laugh. “You dumb girl. You think I believe your prissy ass knows how to use that thing?”
Bang.
A bottle exploded behind the bar, glass flying in all directions.
Diablo flinched. Melanie didn’t.
“Underestimate me again,” she said flatly, “and I will shoot you, no hesitation.”
For the first time, Diablo’s cocky grin faltered.
He exhaled slowly. “Easy, sweetheart,” he said, lifting his hands. “I’m already paid. I could kill him, or not. Doesn’t make much difference to me.”
“Then try,” she challenged, her voice unshaking. “And you’ll end up exactly where you belong—rotting in a prison cell.”
Diablo was in front of me. I could signal her to fire. But would she hit him—or me? She may be great at pretending she knows how to shoot a gun but that doesn’t mean she does, and if she misses we both are screwed if I can’t fight. And I can’t take that risk.
His gaze flickered between us, calculating. “We could make a deal,” he offered. “I walk out of here, you never see me again. Like this never happened.” He tilted his head. “On second thought,” he murmured, “it’d be way more fun to see him watch.”
He moved fast.
I barely registered the shift before, crack—His forehead slammed into my nose. Sharp pain exploded through my skull. My vision blurred, and blood flooded my mouth, then I heard a scuffle—Another click.
“Too bad,” Diablo sneered, “your husband never taught you how to shoot, sweetheart.”
The gun shifted. First, to me. Then to Melanie.
“If you shoot me,” he taunted, “then I have to shoot him.”
Melanie didn’t lower the gun. But I saw the slight tremor in her hands.
Panic clawed at my chest. I couldn’t afford to hesitate.
Not with Melanie’s blood sugar dropping, not with a loaded gun in the hands of a madman who enjoyed dragging things out just to watch people squirm.
But before I could make my move, something unexpected happened.
Diablo tensed.
His entire body went rigid, and for the first time since he slithered in here, his face twisted—not in amusement, but in shock. His mouth opened slightly, like he wanted to say something. Then, without warning, he collapsed.
Flat. Face-first.
I blinked.
The gun slipped from Diablo’s fingers, hitting the floor with a dull, lifeless clatter. My breath caught in my throat. My gaze snapped to Melanie. But her gun was still raised, her hands trembling, eyes wide with shock.
She hadn’t fired.
Then, who?
A shadow shifted in the doorway. A man in a suit. Crisp. Polished. The kind of fabric that didn’t wrinkle under pressure, just like the bastard wearing it. A silencer glinted at the end of the pistol, still pointed at Diablo’s unmoving body.
And the man holding it? Richard.
“Sometimes,” he said smoothly, lowering the gun, “when you want something done right, you have do it yourself.”
The world shrank. The air thickened.
Melanie didn’t move. Neither did I. We just stood there, watching the man who had tormented her for years act like he’d just swatted a fly.
Richard sighed, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. “I knew that slug bastard would fuck up somehow. I’m just glad he took a check.” His tone was casual, almost amused, like he hadn’t just murdered someone in cold blood.
My stomach twisted. This wasn’t just a producer with money and influence. This was a man who had done this before. A man who killed without hesitation, without remorse. And he was standing in front of us like we owed him a goddamn thank you.
Richard’s cold eyes flicked to me, filled with the same detached amusement. “Didn’t I tell you?” He tilted his head. “You were never good enough for my daughter.”
Melanie sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers curling tighter around the gun at her side. “You—”
Richard waved her off like an impatient parent. “Had to clean up your mess? Yes, sweetheart. I did. Before you did something stupid.” His gaze slid back to me, dark amusement still playing in his expression. “And now, we have unfinished business.”
The room was silent except for the pounding in my ears.
Diablo had been the threat. The distraction. But the real danger had been here the entire time. Watching. Waiting.
Richard’s lips curled into a slow smile.
“Man, I didn’t think that would feel as good as it did.
” He lifted his hands, gesturing with each word.
“Richard Thompson—Hollywood’s golden man—saves his daughter again from her fraudulent, dangerous husband.
” He grinned like he could already see the headlines.
“This is going to look so good in the papers tomorrow.”
Melanie’s breathing was ragged, her hands shaking.
“Nick didn’t kill him,” she seethed, voice trembling with rage. “You did.”
Richard chuckled. “Tell that to the cops, sweetheart.”
The distant wail of sirens cut through the night. Getting closer.
His eyes gleamed as he turned on his heels, already rehearsing the performance of his life.
“Just another episode of he said, she said, folks.” And then he was gone.