Page 6 of Crossfire
Moving her wouldn’t solve the problem either. Turned out that even if I could afford her go-forward bills, most other facilities would not take Grams with a past-due balance at her previous facility, and the ones that would were on a massively long wait list.
Maybe there was a solution out there, but I hadn’t found it in over a year, and that still didn’t solve the go-forward payments.
I would love to have her live with me, but without money for a full-time nurse or aide, she might burn my place to the ground, too, by forgetting that she wasn’t allowed to use the stove. And forgetting to turn it off. That’s what forced us into this mess to begin with—the impaired memory and thinking, which compounded her physical limitations. At least she’d survived the fire last time; this time, she might not be as lucky.
I swiped open a photo of Grams, whose frail features and eyes that held a lifetime of love and support were now etched with vulnerability.
She has no one else to depend on,I reminded myself. The thought alone solidified my resolve, clarifying my answer.
Yes.For her, I’d take the chance and meet Bob.
A calculated risk. I’d be careful, and I was well trained, so even if this guy tried something, I could defend myself.
Hell, I would break every bone in his body if he tried anything.
The darkness before me was no longer a physical barrier, but rather a test of my courage.
“I’m doing this for you, Grams,” I whispered.
After mentally practicing the deadliest self-defense moves I knew until they became etched into my muscle memory, I slowly took one step forward.
Trying to still my trembling hands.
My heart raced as I shoved my cell phone into my back pocket and walked tentatively into the garage.
The air was thick with the musty smell of damp concrete, and the echo of my steps seemed too loud, bouncing off walls and blending into the faint hum of a car engine. The chill seeped through my hoodie, goose bumps prickling my skin, while each breath hung in a light cloud before me.
A shiver ran down my spine, not from the cold, but from the eerie stillness that seemed to cloak the garage in anticipation. It was as if the shadows themselves were holding their breaths, watching me as I walked toward the staircase.
3
GRAYSON
In the dim light, as the stale scent of oil and rubber permeated the air, I closed my left eye, willing Vosch’s skull to materialize in my crosshairs before any intruder could intervene. Rarely did I miss a shot, but the SUV’s tinted windows made confirming his exact position an impossible task.
Seth’s voice cracked the three words I least wanted to hear right now.
“She went inside.”
Just. Fucking. Great.
Move. I need one point of orientation to blow your head off.
Someone inside the vehicle lit a cigarette, and the lighter’s flame was bright enough for Vosch’s crooked nose and pointed chin to illuminate in the passenger seat.
My lips curled to one side.
Finally.
This vile bastard’s weapons had killed more kids and orphaned more children than every dirtbag I’d ever put in the ground, combined. Families ripped apart, entire villages slaughtered—all because of him. And the son of a bitch wouldn’t stop arming the world’s worst scum or launching his own attacks until he was six feet under.
It was time to punch his ticket straight to hell.
My mouth went dry as my finger caressed the trigger—the weight of what was at stake heavier than the gun itself. Adrenaline surged through me as I waited, poised, for his shadowed silhouette to still, ensuring a shot that I couldn’t miss.
That’s all I needed.
One pull of the trigger.