Page 78 of Far from Destined

“I’m fine,” I answered, not knowing if it was true. I was too numb to feel anything.

“What about you?”

“He didn’t get me. Has fucking shitty aim.”

Footsteps sounded around us, and then someone pulled Macon off me. At least six guys were on top of him then, pummeling and kicking, but Macon was faster, stronger.

These men might have thought they could fight, but Maconwasa fighter.

I scrambled up, trying to help, but I didn’t know what I was doing. I had only taken self-defense classes. I wasn’t a fighter. I had told Macon before that I had been on the wrong side of a fist one too many times. I didn’t want to see it now. But now Macon was using what he had learned to protect me, to help me find my son.

And I couldn’t forget that, even if I hated it.

Someone tugged at my hair, and I screamed, but then Adam was there, pushing me off the porch. I fell to the grass, my fingernails digging into the dirt. I scrambled up, but then Adam kicked me in the side. I let out a breath, pain radiating through my ribs as I tried to get up again.

“You stupid bitch. You deserve nothing. That place that you love with the coffee and all the sugar? That should be mine. You were too busy on your back before to give me anything but that sweet pussy. But now you’re old and dry. And that little Boulder Bean or whatever the cute-as-fuck name you decided to call it? That should be mine. You need to know what’ll happen if you resist. I deserve every single penny that comes from that place because I was the one who supported you. When your mommy and daddy left, I was the one that put food in your mouth. I gave you everything. And you threw it back in my face.”

“You gave me nothing!” I spat, wiping blood from my mouth.

I had nothing left to lose.

Yet I had everything to lose.

Adam hit me again and again.

I could hear Macon’s struggles as he fought to come to my side; only it wasn’t going to work. There were so many against him, and he was by himself.

Soon, though, I knew the police officers had to come back. They would check in with those on patrol and the ones watching the house and realize that something was wrong. My friends would be here. Others would come.

But I didn’t think it would be fast enough.

I tried to scramble to my feet, but Adam hit me in the face with the gun, and I nearly blacked out, blood seeping out of my mouth.

Adam pulled me up by my hair and shook me, and I kicked, scratched, leaving a bloody streak down his face. He hit me again and again.

But he didn’t shoot me.

No, he wanted me for something.

Panic clawed at me, and I tried to get away.

Macon was coming for me. I knew he would get there.

He kept moving, quicker, the men behind him down on the ground, all out.

Blood coated his face, his side, his hands.

He had done that for me.

And he was coming for us.

And then Adam raised the gun, and I moved.

I thought of Joshua, thought of my friends, and I thought of Macon.

I couldn’t let Adam kill him.

So I moved. I tried to get the gun.