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Thank god he hadn’t been shot.
The bag hadn’t been closed or pushed across the counter when the entry doors burst open.
Hank and Charlie stormed in, guns raised, eyes sharp. Inwardly, I sighed and I tried not to smile at the sight of them. My heart flipped and knew they’d found my note. But when they glanced at me, all I saw was coldness. Hatred. My plan was working, but even though I’d known they’d hate me, it still hurt.
Barton Finch spun about, pointed his gun at the men.
“Don’t even think it. Put the gun down,” Hank ordered. I’d never seen him like this. Focused and intent as usual, but he was driven by anger. He was handsome and virile, ruthless, and I loved him for risking his life for assholes like Barton Finch.
“Shoot him, Grace,” Barton Finch snapped.
Hank kept his gaze on Barton Finch, but Charlie was watching me.
“What?” I asked, and began to shake, my weapon wavering. “I… can’t.”
“Why? Because he’s your husband?” Barton Finch snapped. “Please, you’re a Grove. Shoot the fucker.”
Charlie’s eyes flared wide and I saw the stiffening of Hank’s shoulders.
Barton Finch noticed their reactions as well because he started to laugh. “You didn’t know, Sheriff? You didn’t know your own wife is an outlaw? You might have captured two of the Grove gang, but you missed one. Hell, you were between her thighs all night.”
“You’re Grace Grove?” Charlie asked.
I swallowed back the tears that threatened. Now wasn’t the time to get upset. I had a plan and I had to follow it. I had to see it through, no matter the cost.
“You were part of all the robberies?” he wondered next.
“I… I…” I sputtered, then lowered my weapon.
“Her? Part of the robberies?” Barton Finch laughed.
Inwardly, I smiled. He did exactly as I’d expected. No woman could take credit for his efforts, no matter how dastardly.
“Look at her, she’s too nervous to even wave a gun at you. I’m not,” he snapped and cocked his weapon.
“No!” I shouted, lifting my gun and pointing it at Charlie and Hank.
Through all of this Hank remained silent. His eyes
were on me now, narrowed, jaw clenched.
“Shoot them, Grace. I want to see you kill your own husband.”
I swallowed, aimed my gun at Hank. Looked him in the eye. Fired.
12
HANK
FUCK. Holy fuck, she’d fired her weapon at me. I didn’t think she’d do it, but it went to show how ruthless she was. How much she’d had us played all along. I’d married a fake. She was even worse than her father and brother. They hadn’t hidden who or what they were. They wore their evil like a coat and that made Grace’s duplicity even more wicked.
But then, I realized… she hadn’t actually shot me.
She’d missed.
“He’s fifteen feet in front of you! How could you miss?” The fucker shouted at her.
He was in his thirties, with scraggly hair, ragtag clothing. He looked like he hadn’t seen water in a few months. But none of that mattered. It was the evil gleam in his eye.
