Chapter 12 #3
fact I’d just seen Colton with her, hope sparked deep in my chest, and how
incredibly stupid was that? I doubted they just happened to run into each
other. Then again, it had been purely coincidental that I’d even been there.
I shouldn’t have left.
The knock came again, and my feet came unglued from the
floor. With my phone in one hand, I opened the door.
It happened so fast.
A shadow—a person—shoved inside, slamming the door
against the wall. There was a glimpse of a band of dark ink around thick
biceps. A scream built in my throat and ripped loose a second before pain
exploded along the side of my head, stunning me.
I stumbled to the side, my phone slipping from my fingers
and hitting the floor. A door slammed shut and a second later, the wind was
knocked out of me as my back hit the floor. My lungs seized as I stared up.
It was him—the shooter.
Holy shit.
Had he pistol-whipped me? Wet warmth trickled down the side
of my neck. The whole left side of my head throbbed.
A fine sheen of sweat dotted his forehead as he towered over
me, a gun in his hand. “You couldn’t keep your fucking mouth shut, could you?”
My heart lodged in my throat as I scrambled backward, my
hands slipping over the wood floors. A flip-flop came off as I reached the edge
of the throw carpet.
He followed me. “All you had to do was keep your fucking
mouth shut. That was all. Now Mickey is dead and the son-of-a-bitch Vakhrov is
gunning for me, all because you couldn’t keep your cunt mouth shut.”
My vision blurred a little as I tried to remember who Mickey
was. It took a moment for my brain to process the fact that Mickey must be the
other man I’d seen him with. “I… I didn’t identify hi—”
“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” He shouted, his finger
twitching over the trigger of the gun he held. “You’re going to tell me you
didn’t say shit? Because Mickey is dead and the Goddamn police raided my
momma’s house yesterday.”
I scooted back against the wall, my heart pounding so fast I
thought I’d be sick. This was so bad, so freaking bad I could barely process
what was happening. The only thing I knew was that I was staring death in the
eyes.
His lip curled, just like it had right before he’d shot that
man. “Stupid bitch. Lift your hands.”
Swallowing hard, I raised my shaking hands as my thoughts
raced. I had no idea how to get out of this. Could I reason with him?
His dark eyes held a certain glassy sheen to them and his
pupils were way too dilated as he jerked the gun at me. “Stand up.” When I
didn’t move, he screamed, “Stand the fuck up!”
Okay. I was standing.
Slowly, I pushed to my feet, losing the other flip-flop in
the process. “We can work this—”
“Shut. Up.” He stepped forward. “What part of that do you
not understand? There’s nothing—”
The muted sound of sirens silenced him. Hope exploded in my
stomach. Had someone—one of my neighbors—heard my scream and his yelling?
I really needed to thank my neighbors. Bake them a cake or
something. If I actually lived through this.
He heard the sirens, and in seconds, the whirling noise grew
closer and louder. “Shit. Fuck. Damn.”
My wide gaze darted across the room, searching for some kind
of weapon. Unless I could grab a lamp before he shot me, I was screwed, but I
had to try something. Through the front window, I could see flashing red and
blue lights beyond the curtains. The cops were here and I seriously doubted
this guy planned on walking out of here alive or letting me go.
Sudden shouts from the front of the house erupted, and
horror settled in as I recognized one of the voices. No. No. No.
A loud knock on the door caused me to jump, sending a wave
of dizziness through me. “Abby? You in there?” a voice boomed through the
closed door. “It’s Colton. Open the door.”
Before I could open my mouth, the guy lurched forward,
slamming into me. The back of my head knocked off the wall. His hand clamped
down on my mouth as he got right up in my face.
“Abby!” Colton shouted, and the front door rattled as he or
something slammed into it.
The man’s breath stunk of stale cigarettes and booze as he
pressed against me. “Fucking cops, motherfucking cops,” he grunted, pressing
the muzzle of the gun against the side of my head. “You say one word, I will
blow your fucking brains out right now.”
Right now, I thought dumbly. Versus later? A hysterical
giggle climbed up my throat. The banging at the front door didn’t stop, but I
no longer heard Colton. How was he here? If the police were called there was no
way he would’ve found out that quickly. It didn’t make sense, but at this
moment, it didn’t matter.
If Colton somehow got through that door, I knew this man
would shoot him. My stomach hollowed in fear.
“We’re going to go out your back door, okay?” he said. “And
you’re going to make sure I get the hell out of here. You get me?”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I nodded. He was going to use me as
some kind of shield, and I knew the moment he got outside, he was going to
shoot me. It was either in here or out there, where he’d have a chance to shoot
someone else—a neighbor, one of the cops, or Colton.
I couldn’t let that happen.
No way.
I might have the self-esteem of a sloth, but I wasn’t a
coward. No. I survived my parents’ death. I survived New York City. I survived
my husband’s death. I survived.
I was not a coward.
He grabbed ahold of my shoulder and pulled me away from the
wall. With one well-place shove in the center of my back, he guided me through
the living room. Someone was yelling at the front door again, but it wasn’t
Colton.
“Keep quiet,” he urged, and when I didn’t move quickly, he
shoved me again.
I stumbled into the small dining room table. The impact
knocked over the heavy ceramic vase, spilling plastic flowers across the
surface. The vase rolled toward me.
“Get moving,” he ordered.
My gaze zeroed in on the vase. It was within grasp. Right
there. My heart rate seemed to slow. Everything slowed down actually.
“Goddammit.” He balled his fist in my hair and yanked my
head back sharply. Pain tore down my neck, shooting into my back. “Get your fat
ass fu—”
My brain clicked off as I grabbed the vase and spun around.
The man cursed and he leveled the gun again, but I was fast when it counted.
The gun went off just as I slammed the bottom of the vase into the side of his
head. There was a sickening crunch and something warm and wet sprayed into the
air and across my face. The gun went off again, just as wood splintered on the
back door. It flew open just as the shooter crumbled to the floor.
Colton barreled in, dressed as he was at the bar, in jeans
and a worn shirt. He had a gun aimed and his bright blue gaze took in the
situation. Behind him, uniformed cops streamed in.
He took a step forward, keeping his gun on the shooter.
“Abby?”
I was still holding the bloodied vase as I croaked out, “I’m
not a coward.”