Page 61 of Defending Van

“Always with the punishments with you.”

“You can't disobey me, I'm your boss. Do you have any idea how rich I am? How powerful? I crush bugs like you for breakfast and then go on with my day.”

“Not today you don’t. And just so you know, you were never really my boss. I didn't want it to end this way. I liked the idea of you sitting in a prison cell for the rest of your life, but I can't say I’m sad that I get to kill you for what you did to her.”

Right as Van went to pull the trigger, mayhem erupted.

Makayla flung herself at Asahi Watanabe, who obviously caught sight of her moving in his peripheral vision and shifted.

Van fired his weapon.

Asahi Watanabe fired his weapon.

Makayla had somehow gotten hold of a knife and threw it at Asahi Watanabe as she launched herself at him.

Pain blossomed in Van’s chest, and he knew he wasn't the only one hit because both other people in the room cried out in pain, although he only cared about the fate of one of them.

Ignoring the pain that spiraled through his body, he staggered to his feet, taking in the scene, the two bodies lying on the floor, the blood that seemed to be everywhere but where it was supposed to be, and dropped to his knees at Makayla’s side, reaching out a trembling hand to search for a pulse.

Chapter

Twenty-Two

September 2nd

5:20 A.M.

It was hard to breathe.

Makayla wasn't sure why.

Everything had gone a little hazy.

Maybe just because everything her body and her mind had endured over the last ten or so days had caught up with her all at once.

All she knew was that she hurt.

And she was tired.

And more than ready to just find a quiet, dark little place and curl up, sleep for about a month, then maybe feel human again when she woke up.

Something touched her neck, and Makayla startled. For a second, her exhausted brain couldn’t figure out what it was, or whether it was a threat, but the last ten days of experience coupled with her childhood had conditioned it to believe it was always a threat.

“Shh, sweetheart, just me,” a voice soothed, and she realized it was Van, touching her neck, likely worried she was dead.

“Not dead,” she assured him, even though it was clear he already knew that. Because now that the haziness was passing, her fear for him was rising, and she snapped her eyes open. Two shots had been fired, she knew that, and she’d thrown the knife. At the time, she’d known she probably wasn't going to hit Asahi Watanabe, she’d just been aiming to distract him because he’d been going to shoot Van.

Now that her eyes were open, her gaze quickly scanned his face, then dropped to his chest.

There was a hole.

In his shirt.

Panic shoved aside the pain and exhaustion weighing her down, and she pushed away his hands as she scrambled up to her knees, fingers reaching straight for the hole. He’d been shot. In the chest. He was probably bleeding out. How was he even moving?

“Shot,” she whimpered as she pressed her hands to his chest.

“Wearing Kevlar, sweetheart,” Van said, but the words didn't really penetrate. She couldn’t get over the fact that she had probably made things worse. “But you weren't.”