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Sheesh. She couldn’t even take her trash out.
He glanced at the bag, made a bit of a face, and gestured for her to hand it over.
“You’re the best bodyguard ever.”
He lifted the bag and grabbed the box of recycling. “Anything else?”
“Nope. I’ll get the door.” She moved ahead of him and turned the lock. “Thanks for this. I’ll bake you a cake or something.”
“Lopsided cake.” He smirked. “Mmm.”
“Fine. No cake for you.” She laughed as she swung open the door.
Neilson’s expression went cold. He cursed and lunged for the gun at his side, dropping the trash and recycling so newspapers and milk jugs flew everywhere. He raised it, but two loud pops sounded, and he stepped backward on his heel, dropping his gun on the carpet.
“Neil—” Lucy stopped, her feet suddenly glued to that little strip of riveted metal separating the entryway linoleum and living room carpet.
The heavy scent of spent gunpowder overwhelmed the small room as two red splotches spread across Neilson’s abdomen.
Neilson lurched forward at the man in the doorway. The thud of Neilson’s fists connecting with soft tissue broke the quiet of the night, and a strange reality took hold.
The porch light illuminated a face she could never forget, and her breath caught. Robbie had shot Neilson. Oh, God. Another pop from the gun in Robbie’s hand and Neilson grunted, but continued his assault.
The rushing in her ears overwhelmed all sense. The men tussled into the room, and the lamp on the end table toppled to the ground with a thump. The bulb snapped, and after a brief flash, it went out. Only the faint light from the kitchen and the porch remained, casting a bizarre glow onto the men.
She opened her mouth to scream, but sound wouldn’t come. Her feet wouldn’t budge. She wanted them to move, but they wouldn’t go.
Neilson clutched his stomach, the shocking crimson liquid staining his hand.
“Run.” He gurgled as blood trickled from his mouth down his chin. He didn’t look at her, his focus on Robbie. Neilson stumbled forward using the force of his momentum to push Robbie backward, toward the kitchen, away from Lucy.
Lucy willed her legs to move, praying they would obey.
They did. But she didn’t run away. She refused to leave Neilson alone with a maniac. Not after he took two bullets for her.
A piece of broken light bulb sliced her foot. Ignoring the pain, she grabbed the lamp base. Holding it high over her head, she brought it down hard against Robbie’s skull, knocking him back. A trail of deep red blood ran along his temple.
He tossed an arm out and threw her against the wall. It cracked behind her. His meaty hand wrapped around her neck. Air wouldn’t come. Her mouth opened and closed in a silent attempt to speak. Her grip on the lamp failed. It fell to the floor.
“I am not the enemy.” He ground out the words and squeezed his thick fingers tighter. His vile breath played across her face—a sadistic combination of chewing tobacco, whiskey, and burned plastic. “Stop making me your enemy.”
Bright stars danced in her vision. Neilson grunted, stood unsteadily, and reached for a pistol tucked in his boot. She turned her face away, unwilling to watch what came next. But Robbie dropped his hold and whirled on Neilson.
She collapsed to the ground, rough gasps escaping her throat. Another crack echoed through the room. Neilson fell backward, blood seeping into the carpet around him. He didn’t move. Not even a twitch.
She choked on the stench of fresh blood, sulfur, and putrid chicken as she crawled the rest of the way to the doorway, desperate to get help.
Nearly there, her fingertips grazed the cold threshold.
She cried out when Robbie’s arm came around her, lifting her and hauling her to his doughy chest.
“I wouldn’t leave you,” he rasped against her ear. “Could never leave you.”
Bile rose in her throat as the pool of blood around Neilson grew. She kicked and bucked against the arm clenched around her middle.
“He needs an ambulance.” Hot tears pooled in her eyes.
“We’ll go somewhere I can take care of you. Where it’ll just be you and me.” Robbie dragged her to the kitchen and threw her against a chair. He grasped her hands together and secured them with a zip tie. “This is all for you Lulu. Don’t fight me. I’m the good guy here.” He ran his thumb along her lower lip and slid his finger under her chin, raising it to him.
