Chapter Forty-One Nic
Chapter Forty-One
Nic
Fifteen minutes ago, a big, brawny guy with a shaved head and biceps the size of a cantaloupe showed up.
From what I’ve gathered, his name is Dominic, he’s the one who broke into Harriet’s house last week, and Luke is scared shitless of him.
Which does not bode well for my chances of getting out of here alive.
“I told you, it’s handled,” Dominic says to Luke. He sounds calm, but the veins bulging from his neck tell a different story.
They’re by the door, blocking my path to freedom. I can’t tell if Dominic is armed, but I’m not sure it matters—Luke still has his gun, and Dominic looks like he could break me in half with his bare hands.
I should have signed up for jujitsu back in middle school when my dad suggested it. I should have gone to the gym more often. I should have pumped more iron instead of spending my time cooking and getting tattoos.
My knowledge of how to properly plate food isn’t exactly helpful in this situation.
“When I leave,” Dominic continues, “I’ll get rid of him—properly. Nobody’ll be the wiser.”
My stomach sinks. I’m dead.
Then: a noise from the inner office.
“What was that?” Dominic asks Luke sharply. “Did you call somebody else? I told you I’d fucking handle it!”
Luke’s face pales. “I didn’t. I swear!”
It must be Harriet, coming back to find me.
They turn toward the doorway. Luke lifts the gun, his thumb cocking back the hammer.
I won’t let them hurt her.
I lunge forward, throwing my elbow into the small of Luke’s back. Except I hit Dominic. He stumbles forward, catching himself just before he topples to the floor.
“What the shit?” He swings around, but before he can get a grip on me, I wrap my arms around his waist, flinging my knee into his groin.
“Fuck! You fucker!” He kicks out, connecting with my injured knee.
I shriek as white-hot pain shoots down my leg.
My grip loosens, and Dominic whips around, grabbing me by the scruff of my neck, yanking me toward him so hard I see stars.
“Nic?” It’s Martin.
“Who the fuck is—” Luke disappears into the hall, taking the end of his sentence with him.
“Martin!” I scream. “He’s got a gun!”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Dominic hisses before dropping me to the floor with a thud. He pulls his leg back, then kicks me in the side of my head, just above the ear, pain like I’ve never felt bursting through my skull.
Just before the world goes black, I hear it—a sharp crack, like a firecracker exploding in the night sky.
A gunshot.