Page 62 of Love You To Pieces

When Fox’s gun goes off, the muzzle flash is sharp and bright as the sound deafens me. For a moment I can see his face, set in deadly lines, and he doesn’t stop moving until he’s kneeling beside me.

“Can you get up, Sadie-Rae?” he asks quietly, his eyes flitting from my face to my hands and then my legs. “How bad are you hurt?”

“I’m sorry,” I gasp, unsure why I say it. “Fox, I’m sorry, I⁠—”

Movement catches both of our attention, but this close, Fox’s gun is too slow. The man tackles Fox, his knife somehow gleaming even in the weak bathroom light. His movements are sluggish, but he’s easily twice as big as Fox, and it takes everything in the sheriff to pull him off me instead of letting either of them collapse on top of my legs.

“Run!” Fox orders, hand gripping the man’s wrist where he’s holding that deadly, serrated knife. “Sadie, run! Now!”

“Run,” the man snarls, looking at me. “But it don’t fuckin’ matter none, you dumb slut⁠—”

His attention is forced back on Fox when the sheriff nearly clocks him. They struggle to their feet, and I see the knife on the ground as they scramble for bear hug-like grips on each other.

Run. The word whispers over and over in my head, and my legs tremble with it. I need to run.

Without another thought, I take off down the stairs, though I end up falling down the last few and landing on my hands and knees at the bottom of the staircase. With a pained gasp, I force myself to my feet again, pushing to the area of the theater where I last saw Pearl.

“Please don’t be dead,” I gasp, shoving the door open. “Please, God, don’t be⁠—”

She meets me on the other side, one paw held up but otherwise looking alive and bright-eyed in the dim light. I can’t see much else of her, but a pang of guilt goes through me at her injuries.

It’s my fault.

This is all my fault.

“We have to go, Pearl,” I pant. “Th-this is the only chance we’re gonna get, okay? We have to go and…”

And what?

Where the hell am I going to go? The only people who have shown me kindness—who aren’t dead—are here in Wolf Lake.

One of them is upstairs, fighting against a man who wants to kill me, and here I am, ready to run and leave him here.

He has a gun, a weak voice tries to argue in my head, while another part of me drones on about the statistics of guns being less effective within twenty-five feet or something.

But he’s the sheriff.

Pearl whimpers, like she can hear my thoughts, and I tell myself again that I will only have one fucking chance to get out of here. To make it somewhere home free.

The yell of pain from upstairs, and the rage that follows it, is undeniably Fox. My gaze goes toward the other side of the theater that’s shadowed and dark, but I know the hall back there will lead me out to the lobby, where Carl and the door⁠—

I don’t even finish thinking about it. I simply turn and sprint back up the dimly lit stairs. The wall sconces are like a line of observers as my legs burn and I keep my eyes fixed on the two figures still struggling at the top. One of them gets slammed into the wall, then thrown back toward the bathroom.

Somehow, even without being able to see them clearly, I know it’s Fox. I know in my fucking bones that he’s the one in trouble, and Deacon isn’t here to help. No one is here to help him, except for me, especially with Pearl whimpering and barking from the bottom of the stairs as she limps on three paws.

My dog is hurt.

Fox is hurt.

This is all my fault.

Before the man can follow Fox back into the bathroom, I slam into him, knocking him sideways but not down. He snarls and turns on me, fingers curling in my hair, and I’ve never missed Sally more than I do right now.

A cry leaves my lips as he wrenches me off him and throws me to the ground, so I land in an undignified heap at the top of the stairs.

“Stay,” the man spits before turning back to the bathroom. Opening my eyes, I’m just in time to see him swoop down to pick up the knife, grip it in his hand, and fucking smile.

He’s going to kill Fox.