Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Traffic had been a nightmare coming from downtown.
Pulling into the driveway, Lottie tried remembering if she had left a light on or not when they left for work.
She could’ve sworn she’d left the kitchen and porch lights on.
Neither were on now. Instead, the bedroom window was lit.
Too tired to care, she climbed out of the car anyway, shutting the door behind her.
Razor was still fifteen minutes behind her. Just enough time to grab her mail and go upstairs to pack a bag before he’d be there.
Digging out her house keys, she opened the mailbox and grabbed the envelopes that were sticking halfway out. She started up the steps, tucking the mail between her teeth without thinking so she could unlock the front door.
As she reached for the doorknob, her phone rang. Lottie let go of the handle, pulling the mail from between her teeth as she answered. Using her hip, she shoved the door open at the same time, phone already at her ear. She left the keys in the lock, shifting them as she stepped inside.
“Hello, whore.”
The mail slipped from her hand, scattering across the floor. Lottie froze. Shannon stood inside, a gun trained on her.
Shannon stepped forward slightly, voice calm and sharp as glass, “Stop and close the door.”
When Lottie stayed rooted in place, Shannon’s expression sharpened.
“Do it,” she said cooly, “or I’ll shoot you and kill Razor later. After he gets to watch you bleed out on the floor.”
That got Lottie moving, she slowly closed the door. Only then did she realize she’d left the keys hanging in the lock. Through the phone, Sway’s voice was breaking through, frantically calling her name, telling her to say something.
Lottie swallowed hard. “What do you want, Shannon?”
Shannon’s grip tightened on the gun.
“Merrit,” she said flatly. “And I can’t have him while you’re in the way.”
Lottie strained to hear Sway’s voice through the phone, searching for any sign that help was coming, that someone had picked up on what was happening.
“If you want Merritt, just take him, “ she said evenly.
Shannon looked at her like she was something trapped, something already caught in a web that didn’t need tightening. She moved slowly through the room, circling without ever breaking aim, keeping Lottie in her sights the entire time. She waved toward the sofa.
Lottie forced herself to breathe. She reminded herself, again, that she wasn’t a victim. Not yet. Ignoring the gun, she stepped farther into the apartment. She needed Shannon talking. Distracted. Focused on her instead of whatever Sway might be doing on the other end of the call.
Setting her purse on the kitchen counter, she shifted her phone with it, tucking it just out of sight behind the bag. If Shannon saw it, she’d take it. And Lottie couldn’t afford to lose that lifetime.
Resting her hand on the kitchen counter, Lottie searched for anything, any angle to keep Shannon talking, keep her anchored in the room and off balance.
“Do you mind if I pour a glass of wine?” she asked carefully.
It was a long shot. But Shannon hesitated only a second before giving a sharp, dismissive nod. “Would you like one?”
The question barely landed before Shannon snarled, “You bitch.” Shannon snapped instead, voice rising. “You’re the reason Merritt won’t see me. Why he’s mad about the baby!”
Closing her eyes, Lottie realized her time was running out. Reminding herself this wasn’t a social call. This was a pissed-off, delusional woman with a gun.
“I hate that you are suffering,” she said quietly.
The words came out wrong the second they left her mouth. She could feel it immediately, like striking a match to dry grass.
Shannon screamed again. Raising her free hand, she started yanking at her own hair, pulling it out in fistfuls, pacing the edge of control like it was something she could physically tear apart.
Lottie started backing toward her bedroom. Her derringer was in her nightstand. If she could get to it, she had a chance. A small, shaky chance.
Shannon’s gun snapped up. The shot cracked through the apartment. The bullet slammed into the refrigerator door instead of her.
Lottie screamed anyway, dropping to the kitchen floor. Her pulse roared in her ears as she looked up, seeing the fresh hole punched through the metal where her head had just been.
She scrambled, dragging herself around the table, chairs screeching against the floor as she tried to use them for cover.
Footsteps followed her. Lottie tracked her by sound alone, circling the kitchen in a tightening loop.
Every move she made was mirrored, every attempt to break away met with Shannon adjusting her angle.
It became a sick, spinning pattern, ring around the rosy, except there was no rhyme, no childhood ease. Just breathing, footsteps, and a gun that kept finding her too fast.
She miscalculated, coming around the table too fast. Shannon was waiting. A brutal kick snapped Lottie’s head back, sending her hard to the floor. For a second, everything went white.
Lottie rolled onto her back, instinct kicking in before thought. Her hands flew to her face, pain blooming sharp and immediate. Her right eye blurred almost instantly as swelling began to take hold.
She forced herself to move anyway. Footsteps closed in. Shannon stepped into view, then over her. Straddling her. Lottie’s breath caught.
Shannon crotched down slowly, invading her space completely. Too close. Close enough that Lottie could feel Shannon’s breath against her skin, smell her.
Her nose brushed near Lottie’s ear as she leaned in, inhaling like she was memorizing her. The barrel of the gun dragged lightly back and forth over Lottie’s head.
Left. Right. A lazy, testing motion. Lottie squeezed her eyes shut. This was it. The thought came clean and cold. She was about to die.
With her left eye still in focus, Lottie watched the gun drift away as Shannon turned toward the front door. Footsteps running fast coming up the steps. Shannon shifted, aiming toward the sound.
Lottie didn’t hesitate; she drove her elbow back and up with everything she had. It connected hard with Shannon’s face. The impact sent her tumbling backwards, breaking her hold and knocking her off balance.
Twisting sharply, Lottie kicked out, catching Shannon and knocking her off balance. She followed it immediately—punching out, forcing the fight back onto herself, keeping Shannon focused on her instead of the door, instead of whoever was coming.
Blindly, she lunged for the gun. Her hand closed around it. The second she had it, Shannon was on her again.
They struggled for control; the weapon wedged between them as they fought for leverage. Lottie’s grip was tight—white-knuckled, desperate—but Shannon was stronger, fueled by rage and panic.
A fist slammed into the side of Lottie’s head. Her vision flickered, threatening to go black for a split second. A gunshot exploded in the confined space. The bullet struck the floor just inches away, embedding into the wood. Panic surged.
They hit the ground together, rolling hard across the kitchen floor, neither willing to let go. Lottie shoved with everything she had, muscles screaming as she fought to twist the barrel away from her body. Just as the trigger was pulled again, she managed to angle it off target.
In a blink, everything stopped. Shannon’s eyes went wide, then she collapsed on top of Lottie. She struggled to get the woman off of her, pushing herself backward with her feet, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.
Razor had barely dropped the kickstand on his bike when he reached for his gun and ran for the apartment.
He was halfway to the door when he heard the gunshot.
Busting through it, he was two feet inside when he saw Shannon pointing a gun at Lottie’s head.
Without hesitating, he pulled the trigger, hitting Shannon in the back.
She crumpled to the ground next to Lottie, her eyes remaining open, staring at Lottie as the life drained from her.
Rushing over, he kicked the gun away. Dropping down next to Lottie, he saw her scrubs were splattered with Shannon’s blood. He moved in between her and Shannon’s body, trying to shield Lottie from additional trauma.
“Are you hurt?”
Lottie shook her head no, pushing herself into a sitting position. “Just my eye,” she said offhandedly as she brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She kept looking straight ahead. Razor lifted her face so he could see it—swollen and bruising.
Razor picked Lottie up and brought her outside. After setting her down, he called Vicious.
“Razor.”
“Vicious. I’m at the apartment. I need a cleanup,” his voice was sharp, to the point.
“Why?” Vicious asked.
Razor wrapped an arm around Lottie’s shoulders. “Shannon was about to shoot Lottie.”
Vicious was already grabbing his keys. “On my way.”
“No. Just call Truck,” Razor said, stopping Vicious from getting involved.
Vicious knew the deal, and Razor was right. The less people there, the better. Truck was the chapter’s cleaner and knew what to do. “You got it.”
Hanging up, he went back inside to get Lottie a blanket. When he came back, he wrapped her in it, then sat down beside her.
“Is she dead?” he heard Lottie ask.
“Yeah, sweetheart. She’s dead.”
This whole mess was because of her. She should have stayed away from Razor. Now the entire club would know he was part of a sex club. “I’m sorry about everything.”
Razor eased back where he could look at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Everyone will know about you being part of The Red Door,” she said softly.
“They already know that. I just choose not to discuss it, and no one else dares to,” Razor told her.
She was somewhat relieved by the news. Still, she worried how they would get past this—how long before someone started looking for Shannon and came asking questions?
“Can’t we just call the cops? Shannon was about to shoot me.”
“Yes, but I shot and killed her, not you.”
“We can stage it where it looks like I shot her.”
“Listen to me, we’ll take care of everything,” he told her. “What I need from you is to trust me and let me handle this… for us.”
Lottie nodded her head. She knew the deal from when she and Sway were locked down in the safe house. The chapter would take care of everything. She just needed to keep her head down and her mouth shut. She could do that. For her. For Razor.