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Then she was pressing her mouth to mine again and trying to get her body closer just as someone began banging on the door, and didn’t stop.
It took three seconds for my mind to register that the ominous knocking was similar to a beating heart, and another half a second for my body to lock up and my blood to run cold.
“Ignore it,” Briar pled, but I was already moving.
“Get in the closet,” I demanded in a low, urgent tone as I gently pushed her off and reached under the kitchen table. “Lock the door and call the driver. Tell him someone came to the front door with a heartbeat.”
“Wait, what?”
As soon as I had the gun freed from the holster secured under the table, I stood up and cupped Briar’s neck with my free hand.
“Oh my God, Lucas! What—?”
I slammed my mouth down onto hers to quiet her, then said, “That’s not just someone at the door, Briar, it’s a warning and a goddamn trap. And I can’t go out there if I’m worried about you.” When it looked like she was about to argue, I begged, “Please.” I took one of her hands, placed the gun in it, and held her stare. “If it isn’t me or the driver, don’t wait . . . just shoot. Now go.”
I only waited long enough to make sure she was running toward my bedroom before I took off for the backyard. I rounded the house and slipped silently through the side gate, and only slowed as I neared the front of the house.
The adrenaline and the rage and the fear melted away, and I found my calm was all too easy to reclaim, knowing someone had come for Briar.
And I knew it was her they had come for.
It was a Monday. I was supposed to be at work. Briar wouldn’t have understood the warning in the knock.
I stuck to the side of the house as I searched the empty driveway and the street. A bubble of rage started to form, but I was quick to push it away when I saw the empty car sitting in front of my house.
I stayed silent as I moved closer and closer to the front door. My eyes swept along the street for any other cars or people who might be outside—people who might be watching—but it was quiet, save for the man waiting expectantly at my door with a gun in his hand.
Suppressor screwed on. Finger already on the trigger.
Whoever gave this trigger-happy bastard a gun needed a bullet with their name on it . . . right after I thanked them for making this so easy for me.
I stepped up behind the man without him ever realizing I was there, and in a deadly calm tone, asked, “Planning your funeral?”
Chapter 38
Day 119 with Blackbird
Lucas
Before the man could turn, I slammed one hand over his mouth and, with the other, grabbed his hand holding the gun and squeezed.
He bucked and roared against my hand when the bullet lodged in his foot, but I held tight to him as I pried the gun from his hand.
“That’s why you never leave your finger on the trigger,” I said in the same tone as he continued screaming against my hand. “Now I’m going to give you three seconds to stop yelling, or I’ll do it again. Three, two . . .” I let another beat pass as a few cries left him before he controlled it enough so they were only whimpers. “If you try to run, I’ll aim for your head.”
I released him so suddenly that he rocked backward, crying out in pain when he tried to balance himself with both feet.
“Do you really want to see if I was just making empty threats?” I asked as I glanced behind us for anything and anyone that shouldn’t be there, then gripped his arm. “Walk.”
He hissed and cried out in pain with every step, but was smart enough not to try to run or yell as we walked to the garage. I entered the code to open the door, spared one last look at the street and the houses around mine, then shoved him inside.
“Who?” I demanded to the pathetic man next to me once we were halfway into the garage, but he only kept crying. “Who?” I asked again, my voice dropping lower, taking on a more lethal edge.
I heard a car racing up the street not long before my driver flew onto the driveway, but I only spared him a glimpse as he ran from the car into the garage. I focused on the man in front of me again. “I asked you a question, and it wasn’t rhetorical.”
I slammed my foot down on his injured one. As soon as the pain registered and he screamed, I lifted my foot and shoved it into his knee as hard as I could.
The roar that tore through the garage would’ve had my neighbors calling the cops if my driver hadn’t already shut the door. My house was as soundproofed as they came.
