Chapter 41 #2
I didn’t have time to come up with an escape plan. But I noticed that he was much shorter than I was. At least a head. I was six four now.
My hands balled into fists.
Anger burned hot in my chest as reality really sank in.
Myers was fucking kidnapping me. Years after he killed Zach.
Years after he let my mom rot for it. Years after he tried to kill my grandma.
And he was much smaller than me. Skinny.
Sickly. Like the substance abusers and alcoholics I saw in the hospital.
ICU regulars. Shaking hands. One bottle away from kidney failure.
“Over there!” he barked.
He shoved me toward the little wooden hut I already knew was there. It sat in a small clearing, surrounded by trees. Clouds covered the sky, blocking any moonlight. A warm glow leaked through the hut’s window.
He pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door, never taking his eyes off me.
The door swung open, and he yanked me inside, rough, quick. One hand patted me down while the other kept the gun on me.
The hut was a tiny hellhole.
A couch he obviously slept on. A small table in the middle of the room.
An old kitchenette straight out of the sixties, yellowed cabinets, and a filthy sink.
Empty takeout boxes and beer cans were everywhere.
It stank of stale alcohol, sweat, and mold.
There was no bathroom. No shower. Just this one dirty room and a space heater humming in the corner.
“Can I sit?” I asked, nodding at the round wooden table buried under trash.
He hesitated. Thought about it. Then nodded.
I pulled the chair back and sat, taking in the space again.
Myers dropped onto the couch a few feet away. He stared at me, sniffing, restless. His leg bounced. His grip on the gun never relaxed.
“So,” I said, folding my hands in my lap, “let’s talk.”
His eyes dragged over me, head to toe, as if I might be hiding a gun somewhere. As if that would even be possible in scrubs.
“You can take the mask off. I mean, I know who you—”
“Shut up!” he barked. “I’m not John Myers. I’m just a friend helping him negotiate things.”
I nodded. Slow. Careful. “Makes sense. Then let’s negotiate. Tell me what Myers wants. Obviously, he wouldn’t be talking to Harlow or sending you after me if he didn’t want something.”
He rocked back and forth on the couch.
Finally, he locked eyes with me.
Brown eyes. Bloodshot.
“Myers needs money,” he said. “A lot of it. Fucking Harlow found him and dragged this whole shitshow into the open again.” A sharp sniff. “No way he trusts that piece of shit to get his charges dropped. This whore told Myers you will pay for him to leave.”
I nodded, agreeing. “I would. How much does he want?”
Myers shrugged, the motion jerky. “Don’t know. Maybe a hundred K?”
He watched my face closely. When I didn’t laugh, he sat up straight.
“No, wait. More like five hundred K.”
I stayed still. Kept nodding.
“No. Fucking wait, man.” His voice rose. “One million. Yeah. He wants one million for this shit.”
“Okay,” I said. “One million.”
Something loosened in him, and his lips formed into a crooked smile.
“Yeah,” he said, lighter now. “Fucking one million. Yeah.”
“Sounds fair,” I said. “And what else does my family get in return for one million?”
“You stupid?” he snapped, arm stretching out, the barrel aimed at me. “He’ll leave the area. Like you want him to. And I won’t shoot you. After everything your fucking family put him through, I should blow your brains out. Let you join your mom in hell!”
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. My gaze held his, steady, flat.
Finally, he scoffed and pulled the gun back a few inches.
“Fine,” he said. “You also get the fucking murder weapon for a mill. How about that?”
My brows pulled together. “The one in this picture? May I?” I pointed toward my pockets, slow enough for him to see the movement.
When he didn’t tense up, I slowly pulled out the picture of the knife. “This one?”
“Yeah. Fucking that one.”
“Is that the smoking gun Thomas Harlow promised you in exchange for dropping your charges?”
His eyes widened.
“I see.” I shook my head. “I can’t believe you believed him. And how would buying the murder weapon from you benefit my family anyway?”
He shot up from the couch so fast the cushions fell. “You little shit! How about I just shoot you!”
I shrugged. “Yeah, maybe you should. Because that murder weapon you’re trying to make a deal with here …”
Myers narrowed his eyes at me.
“Well,” I continued, “you can’t make a deal with it.”
“And why the fuck not?” he yelled, stepping closer, the gun aimed straight at my chest.
“Because, Myers, you filthy piece of shit …”
Our eyes locked.
Time slowed.
The air felt heavy, pressing in from all sides.
“Because you don’t have it anymore.”
His head jerked. A twitch. Then his eyes shot to the kitchen drawer next to the filthy fridge.
“Go ahead,” I said. “Go check.”
I leaned forward in the chair as he rushed toward the kitchenette.
“You see, what Lucy didn’t tell you, because I asked her not to, is that I knew about this little hiding place of yours.”
He yanked open the drawer with one hand and started digging through it, tossing papers and junk onto the counter. An old battery fell to the floor. The gun stayed in his other hand, still pointing in my direction.
“Where the fuck is it!” he screamed, ripping through the drawer.
“Well … last night, when you left for the bar, I came here and took the knife.”
I pulled the spare gloves from my scrub pocket and slid them on. “God. I couldn’t believe how stupid you were when I found the murder weapon in a kitchen drawer. Considering how important it is to you.”
Myers let out a raw scream, something between rage and panic, then spun around fast enough to knock over several beer cans on the counter.
“I’ll kill you!”
“Nah, you won’t,” I said. “You’re a head smaller than me. And when I came here last night, I also took the bullets out of your gun.”
His eyes snapped to the weapon in his hand. Then to me. Then back to the gun. His fingers flexed around the grip.
“I knew there were fucking bullets in it when I checked this morning!” he said.
“So, you were smart enough to check,” I countered.
“Fucking right, you asshole.” He moved toward me fast and shoved the gun straight at my chest. “And I put new ones in.”
The barrel hovered inches from me.
His hand shook. Not just his hand. His whole body trembled. If he had reloaded the gun, he would kill me. No doubt.
But not before he had his only bargaining chip back.
“Where’s the fucking knife?” he screamed, spit flying from his mouth. The smell of foul breath filled my nose. My skin crawled, but I held his gaze.
This wasn’t a bluff anymore.
There wasn’t much time left.
Every jerk of his twitching movements told me he’d stopped caring a long time ago. He’d stepped over the edge years back. And now I had taken the only thing that gave him leverage.
“Where is the knife?” His gun shifted from my chest to my head.
The metal hovered inches from my forehead.
“Last chance, you little shit,” he said, calm for the first time.
The calm of a man who’d made up his mind.
The calm of someone who didn’t care anymore.
The calm of someone ready to kill.
This was it.
This was my only chance.
“It’s right here,” I said.
My hand slid under the table and wrapped around the gun I’d taped there last night. In one smooth motion, I pulled it free and fired.
He was too close for me to miss.
The shot exploded through the hut. It bounced off the old walls and rang in my ears.
Myers dropped hard.
He screamed as he hit the floor, a high, broken sound that didn’t match the threats he’d been throwing seconds ago. His gun slid under the table. I kicked it out of reach and watched him whimper. Curled up tight. Arms wrapped around his stomach, rocking like a child.
“You shot me!” he cried. His body folded in on itself, arching, then collapsing again.
“Sorry about that,” I said, “but when I came here last night to take the knife, I also left a gun under your table.”
I shrugged. “You see, the trauma I’ve been through in life didn’t kill me.
But it changed me, I guess. It created an ice-cold corner deep inside my heart.
One that surfaces when my loved ones are in danger.
” I watched him, emotionless. “I knew you’d come for me to get your money.
I instructed Lucy to tell you that the oldest Alderwyn son was the one looking for you and was without protection.
That I was the easiest target. Worked night shifts at the hospital.
It was only logical that you’d come for me first and bring me here. ”
His breathing turned ragged. His hands pressed against his stomach, but blood still seeped through his fingers and soaked into his sweater.
I crouched next to him. The wound sat low in his abdomen.
“It’s not an artery,” I said, studying the way the blood flowed. “You could possibly live.”
“Call 911,” he gasped. “I need an ambulance.”
A short laugh escaped me. Myers. The murderer. The monster. Begging for someone to save him. Like the countless other victims of his.
“Let’s wait with that,” I said.
I dragged the chair closer and turned it toward him. Placed my gun on the table within reach, then sat and faced him.
“There’s still something we need to talk about.”
“What?” Spit and saliva were collecting at the corner of his mouth. “Are you crazy? I’m dying!”
My brow lifted slowly. “Really? You’re trying to play that card after everything you’ve done to my family and me?”
“Somebody heard the shot.” He groaned. “The police will come soon.”
“Nah.” I shook my head. “Nobody calls the cops at the Seacoast Inn. Especially not when shots fly. And even if they did, you basically kidnapped me. I defended myself with an unregistered gun I found in your hut.”
His face drained. Tears mixed with sweat and dirt.
“What do you want?” He sobbed.
His tears almost made me angrier than the threats.