Every jerk of his twitching movements told me he’d stopped caring a long time ago. He’d stepped over the edge years back. And now I had taken the only thing that gave him leverage.
“Where is the knife?” His gun shifted from my chest to my head.
The metal hovered inches from my forehead.
“Last chance, you little shit,” he said, calm for the first time.
The calm of a man who’d made up his mind.
The calm of someone who didn’t care anymore.
The calm of someone ready to kill.
This was it.
This was my only chance.
“It’s right here,” I said.
My hand slid under the table and wrapped around the gun I’d taped there last night. In one smooth motion, I pulled it free and fired.
He was too close for me to miss.
The shot exploded through the hut. It bounced off the old walls and rang in my ears.
Myers dropped hard.
He screamed as he hit the floor, a high, broken sound that didn’t match the threats he’d been throwing seconds ago. His gun slid under the table. I kicked it out of reach and watched him whimper. Curled up tight. Arms wrapped around his stomach, rocking like a child.
“You shot me!” he cried. His body folded in on itself, arching, then collapsing again.
“Sorry about that,” I said, “but when I came here last night to take the knife, I also left a gun under your table.”
I shrugged. “You see, the trauma I’ve been through in life didn’t kill me. But it changed me, I guess. It created an ice-cold corner deep inside my heart. One that surfaces when my loved ones are in danger.” I watched him, emotionless. “I knew you’d come for me to get your money. I instructed Lucy to tell you that the oldest Alderwyn son was the one looking for you and was without protection. That I was the easiest target. Worked night shifts at the hospital. It was only logical that you’d come for me first and bring me here.”
His breathing turned ragged. His hands pressed against his stomach, but blood still seeped through his fingers and soaked into his sweater.
I crouched next to him. The wound sat low in his abdomen.
“It’s not an artery,” I said, studying the way the blood flowed. “You could possibly live.”
“Call 911,” he gasped. “I need an ambulance.”
A short laugh escaped me. Myers. The murderer. The monster. Begging for someone to save him. Like the countless other victims of his.
“Let’s wait with that,” I said.
I dragged the chair closer and turned it toward him. Placed my gun on the table within reach, then sat and faced him.
“There’s still something we need to talk about.”
“What?” Spit and saliva were collecting at the corner of his mouth. “Are you crazy? I’m dying!”
My brow lifted slowly. “Really? You’re trying to play that card after everything you’ve done to my family and me?”
“Somebody heard the shot.” He groaned. “The police will come soon.”
“Nah.” I shook my head. “Nobody calls the cops at the Seacoast Inn. Especially not when shots fly. And even if they did, you basically kidnapped me. I defended myself with an unregistered gun I found in your hut.”
