Chapter 74
Seventy-Four
ANDREA
I don’t think I’ve ever known true rage until I watched my father knock Seba to the ground with the butt of a gun.
The scream Cade let out tore through my soul.
I can’t even process what we just witnessed.
It’s like I’ve been struck myself— the pain so violent that my brain has to block it out for survival.
An eerie calm descends over me despite the seismic volcano erupting beneath my skin. I’m a passenger along for the ride as my body bolts from the safety of the hallway, withdraws my concealed carry, flips off the safety, and aims at my father’s chest.
“I said, put the gun down,” I repeat, voice like an ice blade.
Finally, the firearm leaves my boyfriend’s head, but Seba is still dazed. Probably concussed. The need to check on him screeches loud enough to shatter glass. But the need to protect him and Cade is significantly louder.
Cade. Alone in the hall. Hopefully still out of sight. And hopefully not losing his mind.
My father’s condescending stare rakes at my composure as he turns the pistol on me. “Now, Andrea, you don’t pull a gun on someone unless you intend to use it.”
I load a bullet into the chamber.
His jaw flexes. “Patricide is an unforgivable sin—”
“Good thing I’m not looking for forgiveness.”
I thought it’d be sweeter— seeing it dawn on him that I’m serious. His control is exposed for what it really is: an illusion. His threats, meaningless. He’s powerless here.
Out of the corner of my eye, Sebastian pushes himself up on an elbow. “It’s over, Sinclair,” he rasps. “The cops know everything. They’ll be here any second.”
My father is a cornered beast, wild eyes darting between us and the various entrances of the chapel.
“You’re bluffing,” he scoffs.
“I’m not.”
“How could they—” His panic quickly dissolves into anger. A polished loafer slams into Seba’s side again, right under his ribs. “Judas!” Kick. “It was you! You’re the leak!” Kick. “How dare you betray me! I gave you purpose!”
Fuck. No.
Lightning fast, I drop my mark and pull the trigger.
My father roars— an unintelligible, animalistic sound that reverberates off the rafters and rattles the gilded crucifix behind the altar. He collapses to the stone floor, clutching his foot, blood spilling from inside his expensive leather shoe.
But he’s still armed.
I don’t waste time advancing and reloading.
“If you so much as even look his way again, I’ll take your fucking eyes out,” I seethe.
“The devil has always been in you, girl,” he spits, leveling the pistol at me again. “I’d be protecting God’s people by sending you to hell.”
His finger hooks the trigger.
“POLICE! HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!”
“DROP YOUR WEAPONS!”
A storm of boots and we’re surrounded. Hands held high, I slowly squat to place my revolver on the ground as two officers converge on my father.
“I need medical assistance! She shot me!” He wails.
“William Sinclair, you’re under arrest for…”
I tune it out. All of it. There’s only one thought on my mind.
“Cade!” Twisting, I scan the chaos for him. Agents in bulletproof vests, assault rifles, paramedics. No blonde boy in a borrowed flannel. My heart slams against my ribs, adrenaline and shock catching up to me. My vision blurs. “CADE!”
“Sweetheart?” Seba croaks. I scoot closer to where an EMT is examining the laceration through his brow. Our hands find each other’s. He squeezes hard enough to crack my knuckle when the paramedic dabs the wound.
“I’m here, I’m here,” I murmur, glancing around frantically again for our boyfriend.
“Where’s our baby?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, struggling to hold back tears.
Squeaking rubber.
Sneakers.
“LET ME THROUGH!”
I spring up right as Cade hurls himself through the swarm of uniforms, crashing on his knees in front of us.