Page 118 of Chasin’s Surrender

I didn’t miss the gun blast, splintering the silence of the room. And I absolutely, unequivocally did not miss Holden’s body jerk as he returned fire before he hit the floor.

That was when my body finally reacted. Unfortunately, it responded incorrectly. I should’ve gone for Holden’s gun, I should’ve booked it out of there. Instead, I threw my body over Holden’s bloody one in an effort to protect him.

“Get up,” Bent shouted.

“I can’t believe you shot Holden.” I slid off him and pressed my hands over the wound trying to staunch the blood flow. “Get him help.”

“How stupid are you?”

That was a good question. I was kneeling over Holden, blood covering my hands, with a madman—a murderer—pointing his gun at me. Yet, I was telling him to get help instead of, say—grabbing Holden’s gun—which probably made me the stupidest woman on the planet.

But what the hell did I know about crazy fucking men who bust in doors and shoot people after they kidnap your best friend and threaten the man you love?

Nothing.

I knew not a damn thing about any of that. What I did know was, I didn’t want Holden to die.

“Call for help and I’ll go with you and do whatever you want. If you don’t, you’ll go to sleep every night knowing I’m plotting your murder. And one morning, when you open your eyes, you’ll find me staring down at you right before I kill you.”

Bent’s chuckle was low and manic at first, then it grew in both volume and fever until it was hysterical. The sound creeped me the hell out. But the part that freaked me out the most, he looked like he was possessed. It was the way he looked at me—not menacing, not edgy, not like he hadn’t just shot a man in cold blood after he’d hurt a defenseless woman.

No, everything about Bent’s look was cold. So cold, I shivered, and the warm blood oozing out of Holden no longer registered.

Fucking dick.

“Get up,” he commanded.

“No. Fuck you, no.”

“Get the fuck up!” Bent roared, and I watched spittle fly from his mouth.

I pressed harder on Holden’s stomach. The blood seeped around my palms, and if I wasn’t already on my knees, seeing all that crimson coupled with the metallic smell would’ve taken me down. And if that didn’t, knowing there was a gun pointed at a helpless Holden would’ve done it.

There were so many things wrong with what just happened. So many, my mind spun.

Where’s Chasin?

Where’s Bobby?

“Why?” I shouted back. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“For the last time, get the fuck up, Vivi.”

“I really want to know. What did I ever do to make you do this to me?”

“Vivi—”

“I’m not getting up, you stupid fucking asshole. I’m not leaving Holden.” My throat hurt from screaming so loud.

But I pushed on because I was done.

And not done in the way I was before. Not, done being stalked. Not, done having my life controlled by some unknown person. Not, done with creepy letters and gifts. Not, done being fucked over by everyone in my life.

No, I was done because I saw it. The look on Bent’s face changed when I yelled at him, and now I was just plain done for.

He raised his gun from where he’d been pointing it at Holden and leveled it at my head. I knew when he pulled the trigger, the bullet would hit me square in the face because I was literally looking down the barrel.

“It’s better this way,” he said conversationally.