Page 34 of Redemption

Christian roars and abandons my throat, trying to grab my flailing arms.

“You fucking bitch!”

“Fuck you,” I spit.

I scream and thrash from side to side, trying to get loose when he gets hold of my arms and slams them to the ground above my head. The position is eerily like what he did to me last night and the thought that I fucked my own hitman sends a shockwave of hurt and rage through me.

Christian leans in, close, nose to nose, his face twisted in a sneer. “I just did that. The whole fucking night!”

“You’re sick! That’s sick!”

“I didn’t want to do this!” he roars. His hold around my wrists is bruisingly hard and I wince from the pain.

“Then don’t! Please.” My voice breaks. I’m losing and I know it.

“I don’t have a choice.” His eyes turn cold, distant. It’s as if he’s not in there anymore.

When I feel cold steel against my temple, I reel. I don’t think. My mind is blank. On pure feral instinct I dart up and put my lips to his, making him gasp, then I bite down on his lower lip, drawing blood.

His roar makes my chest tighten to the point where I can barely breathe, still I don’t let go. He flails, and fights to get me off him. My arms get loose and as I fight to get away from him, my hand closes around the gun. I have shot a few times at a range. Evan was into it. I fiddle with it, nearly dropping it, then my finger slips into the guard. Spinning it around at the same time as Christian reacts, shouting out, I pull the trigger.

I see it in his face. I see that I hit him. His honest surprise. His wheeze. Our eyes meet. I widen mine in absolute horror over what I just did. His lose their edge, the fury, the fight.

“I’ll fucking kill you, Ker,” he gasps, blood dripping from his nose, his lip bleeding profusely where I bit him. “I’ll find you and I’ll end you.”

He’s on me, and he’s heavy, but he’s injured, and I’m filled with adrenaline. Pushing him off me, I lurch to my feet, still clutching the gun.

I look at the Christian-shaped heap on the ground, curled in a fetal position, his back to me. His breaths are heavy as he slowly shuffles around until he falls on his back, his face pale, a frozen mask, his eyes dark and hooded as they fixate on me. It’s obvious that he’s in pain. One part of me wants to dash to his side and… do what? Comfort this monster?

I’ll end you.

Looking at the gun, I realize I should kill him and save myself. But I can’t. I don’t murder people, and that’s what it would be. I’d murder him in cold blood.

I stagger back.

“I’m sorry,” I mouth, then I throw the gun as far as I can and begin to limp back to the car.

“Kerry!”

I whimper. It’s the most frightening sound I’ve ever heard. Christian growling my name with a promise of unmentionable pain. A promise of death. I glance back at his writhing body, the sight shooting a new bolt of fear through my chest. My legs already burn after a mere few steps, my breaths wheeze, my chest aches. Tears stream down my face at what I did, at what I had to do. I don’t know if the shot will kill him. I just want to get away. I want to live.

The keys are in the car. I don’t know where I am, but I drive. I drive out of the docks, over hills. In the far distance I see lights, the bay, the bridge.

I have no phone. I have no idea where it disappeared to, or when. I head for downtown San Francisco, and when I see a police cruiser at an intersection, I come to a screeching halt next to it and dash out.

“Help!”

Ten

Christian

Listening to Kerry’s fading footsteps, I close my eyes and reach inside, past the searing pain in my chest that’s distracting me from assessing if I’m surviving or if I’m dying. I’m short of breath, so probably a lung shot to hell, collapsed. My heart is beating rapidly but steady which is a good sign. Rapid is probably because of the adrenaline and the pain and not a sign that I’ll go into shock. I cough blood, so airway and vessels damaged. I can bleed out into the lung cavity, which isn’t good news at all.

I pat along my chest for the entrance wound, but the clothes are in the way and I don’t have enough strength to start pulling up my shirt. The shape of my phone in the suit jacket makes my heart jolt. I struggle with it for a while, bloodied fingers slipping on the smooth surface. Finally I get it unlocked and manage to find my contact list.

Eric Reed is one of the most capable people I know. I don’t like him, but he’s one of few I trust to maybe get me out of this mess.

“Yeah?” He sounds a bit stressed. “What’s up? I just got home from a trip. Literally just dropped my bag on the couch”