Page 121 of Crimson Love

I don’t let go, but he doesn’t either.

“Fucker,” Reed growls. “She went public and ruined my life.”

Neither of us let go of the weapon. With a death grip on it in his hand, I reach in with my other and fist him by the back of his collar.

His head slams against the window frame as I yank him out, but that doesn’t stop me. Reed Shaw is not a small man, and I just had an organ transplant, but there’s no way I’ll release him. I pull and yank as Reed fights and struggles.

He grabs my sweatshirt with his free hand, but I use it to my advantage. I turn and twist his hand holding the gun.

He howls in pain and drops the weapon in the snow.

I let gravity do the rest. We land on our sides in the ditch.

I clamor to my feet, grab him by the collar, and pull him to my face. We’re both panting, and I feel it in my gut.

“You will never hurt Lennon again.” I draw my arm back and swing. My fist connects with the side of his face. “You traded her for a debt. Sold her off and abandoned her. How could you do that to your own daughter?”

He puts his good hand to my jaw, and it’s all he can do to hold me at an arm’s length, but he doesn’t utter a word. He presses his thumb under my eye, and I feel his nail break through skin.

“I’ll kill you,” he sputters. “Then I’ll kill her. I should’ve let Andrei do what he wanted with her, but we made a deal. Look where it got me.”

I hit him again, dislodging his hand from my face, but he gets hold of my sweatshirt at the neck. He uses his body weight to pull. I land on top of him in the snow.

I try to get him up, but he rustles through the drifts. I realize it the moment it happens.

The gun.

He found it.

I kick at his arm and twist the bad one. He howls in agony. I grip his wrist again. He has less fight in him, and I might have hurt his arm, but he proves his finger still works.

His face turns red as he struggles trying to aim at me.

He slips and pulls us both to the cold, hard ground with a thud.

And the gun discharges again.

Lennon

“T hey’re close, just over the ridge. Maybe a minute out. Let me know when you hear sirens.”

I can’t sit in the truck any longer.

I try to push my door open, but it’s pinned shut by the snow. I climb across the console and trip when I fall out the driver’s side door. I finally get a good look at my father’s SUV.

“I hear the sirens. Tell them to hurry. Jett hasn’t come back.”

A shot rings through the frigid air. I scream and start to run.

“Do not approach the car until the police get there,” the dispatcher warns.

“I have to see if he’s okay,” I cry. “Nothing can happen to him. Not because of me.”

I’m almost across the street when two police SUVs come barreling over the hill. I stop to wave them down. They come to a sliding halt but leave the lights on as officers jump from their cars with their guns drawn.

I point to my dad’s SUV. “Jett went to the other side. A gun just went off.”

“Stay back,” one of the officers demands, but there’s no way.