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For one second, we're both holding it.

His face changes.

Oh, shit.

He rips it from my hands and hurls it across the shed. It hits the wall.

Mercer hovers over me. Blood runs from his mouth. One eye is swollen. His face is scratched. His arm hangs tighter against his body now.

I did that. Every fucking bit of it.

“You done?”

I breathe hard. “No.”

Something almost like disbelief crosses his face. “Of course you're not.”

He barely gets the words out before I lift my knee, catching his groin. He groans. I jab my finger in his swollen eye. He screams and rolls away.

I scramble to my feet and grab the broken chair beside me. He grabs at my ankle. I push the chair forward. One leg catches his bad knee. He collapses onto the floor.

I run for the door.

Somehow, the bastard gets to his feet and is behind me.

One hand catches my hair. Pain tears across my scalp. I scream.

Mercer yanks me backward.

I twist, my elbow catching his stomach.

He swears.

I stomp down on his foot.

He doesn't let go.

So I turn and bite him. Hard.

“What the fuck!”

His hand disappears from my hair.

I spit. “Don't fucking touch me.”

I bolt through the door.

Behind me, Mercer scrambles for the gun.

I don’t wait to see if he gets it.

I run. Again.

I don't know how. My body is one giant bruise held together by spite.

But I run.

Behind me, Mercer crashes out of the shed.