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“What about that thing?” the bald man grumbles, nodding at Hunter.
“What?” Quinn snaps. “Fuck’s sake. Just shoot it if it tries anything.”
“Let’s get this over with,” Liam grunts, heading toward the door.
He’s leaving me.
He’s just walking away.
Hunter twitches, as though reading my thoughts.
Liam, Quinn, and the three remaining men leave the room.
The bald man in the paper-like suit turns his gaze to me. He has a crescent scar under his left eye. His eyes are watery, glassy. He’s lowered the gun a little now, aiming it down at a forty-five degree angle, but I’ve got no doubt that he’ll snap it back up to me if I try anything.
“Hunter. Arm.”
Liam’s voice roars from the hallway, so loud and commanding he sounds as if he’s still in the room with us.
So quickly my eyes can’t track the movement, Hunter leaps at the bald man. It happens in a blur of action. One second Hunter is sitting, and the next he’s on top of the man, on the floor, his massive slathering mouth clamped tightly around the bald man’s gun hand.
The man roars and drops the gun.
I move on autopilot, feeling like everything is miles and miles away.
I grab the gun and back up against the wall, my hands trembling as I aim it toward the bald man. But he’s too busy screaming and writhing as Hunter traps his forearm.
From the hallway, gunshots crack and somebody lets out a wavering scream. I can’t tell if it’s Liam or Quinn or one of the others.
More gunshots, more screaming.
Something smashes.
Hunter lets go of the man’s arm and stands on his chest, teeth bared as he growls into the man’s face.
“Okay, okay,” the man pants. “Fuck, okay. I’m sorry, doggie. Fuck.”
“Liam,” I call, stunned at how steady my voice sounds. “Liam?”
Liam appears in the doorway, one hand wrapped across his middle. I gasp and feel tears creeping into my eyes. He’s been shot and he’s holding his middle to try and stop the bleeding, to stem the wound.
He’s going to die.
But then my eyes refocus and I see that the blood smattering his shirt isn’t his. He’s flecked, petals here and there. The reason he’s got his arm wrapped across himself like that is that he’s cradling all the guns.
He tosses them to the edge of the room and then, after a quick scan of the room, he turns and paces back into the hallway.
A moment later, he reappears with Quinn walking awkwardly in front of him. Liam’s got his hand on Quinn’s wrist, bending it up behind his back.
“Apologize,” Liam snarls, shoving Quinn to his knees. “Now. Or I’ll end your worthless life.”
“I’m sorry,” Quinn cries, eyes flooding with tears. He starts to blubber as snot clings to his lips. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”
“Whatever,” I snap.
I turn to Liam.
“The others.”
“Alive, but they won’t be causing us any problems. Call the police, Lola. I need to keep watch on this bastard.”
“Do I need this?” I murmur, gesturing with the gun.
His smirk twitches for a moment as if he’s proud of me for taking action amidst all the mayhem.
“No,” he says. “It’s over now. These bastards aren’t going to try anything.”
“You didn’t even … I don’t even …”
Quinn trails off, letting his gaze fall to the floor.
“That’s the difference between a fighter and somebody who just lifts weights,” Liam snarls. “It doesn’t make you tough, taking steroids and getting big. Maybe it makes you intimidating to some people. But not tough. That was easy work, Quinn Lineman, easy fucking work.”
I take out my cellphone and walk to the other side of the room, standing near the window, struggling to get my breathing under control. I place the gun on the desk, wincing at the wood-on-metal sound it makes.
I dial 911 and bring the cellphone to my ear.
I know one thing for sure, I reflect as the phone rings a couple of times. I’m never, ever – even if I live to be a hundred – going to forget this Valentine’s weekend.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
Chapter Eighteen
Liam
I lean against the balcony railing, the metal cool against my arms through the fabric of my suit. Hunter sits beside me, looking up at me with his head tilted, his eyes glinting in the setting sun.
We spent most of the day at the sheriff’s office, giving our statements, going over what happened.
The sun sets early in winter, and now – without the heated flooring turned on – icy cold moves through me.
I reach down and stroke Hunter behind the ear.
“You did good, boy,” I tell him. “All that home-defense training paid off, eh?”
He grins, tongue hanging out.
Lola and Kayley are in Kayley’s bedroom. Kayley came home when we returned from the sheriff’s office, demanding to see Lola alone. The two of them wandered off – Lola giving me a look of confusion – and so here I am, waiting.
