AllFreeNovel
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We step out front of the bar, the fresh air a gift to my lungs.
Simon pivots me in front of him, his hands on my waist as he guides me toward his parked motorcycle.
“You’re a lifesaver, man,” Derek tells him while stumbling with each step.
The parking lot is dim, nearly pitch black. I can only make out a couple feet in front of me. The only light is from the residual glare of the bar’s neon sign floating into the space. Whoever is in charge of maintenance around this place is slacking at replacing the bulbs in the lamp overhead.
Still, that doesn’t stop Simon from leading me directly to his bike.
“This a nice rig you got here,” Derek says while trailing his finger over the dash of Simon’s bike. “What this run you, about forty, fifty grand?” He glances up at Simon. “Where’s the key? Start this bad boy up.”
When Simon doesn’t comply, Derek reaches into his pants and draws out a knife, somehow at the very same time as he snatches me by the arm and puts me in front of him. He presses the blade against the base of my throat. “Get the key, pretty boy.”
Simon doesn’t have time to get his gun, at least not enough that he’s comfortable risking my life for it. There’s no telling how much this asshole has had to drink and if he’d accidentally drive the knife into my throat on accident.
“It’s in my pocket, Derek. Come get it yourself. Don’t you dare touch a fucking hair on her head.” Simon keeps his hands out in front of him. “Let her go and get the key. You can have the bike.”
Derek chuckles. “Like I fucking believe you.” He presses the blade into my flesh, almost breaking the skin. “Why don’t you grab the key out of his pocket for me, sweetheart?”
My stomach turns at the disgusting tone of his voice. I lock my gaze onto Simon's and inch toward him as Derek moves me in that direction.
“Any funny business and I gut her right here.” Derek keeps his arm around my waist and the knife at my throat. Even if Simon wanted to pull me away from him, Derek would be able to kill me before I’d have the chance to get free.
“Love…” Simon whispers, his whole body tense.
“Which pocket?” I ask him, my mind focused on getting the damn key.
“My right.” His gaze searches for a way out, anything to free me from this man who holds me captive.
“No fucking funny business.” Derek shakes me as if that’s going to make this go any fucking smoother.
I reach my hand into Simon’s pocket, moving past a wad of cash and locating the key. But that isn’t all I feel, and he and I both know it.
Simon slowly shakes his head, his gaze frantically on mine.
But that’s the thing…I’ve never really been good at following directions.
So, the second Derek and I step away and place the key in his hand, I use his momentarily triumph to spin myself in his grasp, facing him and shoving the blunt edge of Simon's gun into his side and pulling the trigger.
Derek’s eyes go wide. The knife falls from his grasp and his hold no longer remains on me but on the blood gushing out of his side.
Simon reacts immediately, kicking the knife from his reach and yanking the gun from my hands. “Jesus Christ, love. What the hell were you thinking?” He grabs my shoulder and steadies me toward him. “Are you okay?” Simon tilts my chin up and examines my neck. He runs his hand behind my head and tugs me into his chest, hugging me with one arm while the other holds the gun toward Derek. Simon kisses the top of my head and releases me.
"I'm fine, I'm fine." Even though I just shot a man, I'm weirdly very much okay. Maybe it's shock, or adrenaline, or just the pure desire to kill this fucking bastard, but I'm not at all shaken up. I know I should be scared, afraid, terrified that I was held at knifepoint,again, or that I fired a gun, but even with Simon standing there unable to do anything, I still felt safe in his presence. Maybe it was the reassurance of him nearby that gave me the power to act so fucking irrationally and get myself out of the situation. Whatever it was, I’m grateful for it. Because here he is, the bastard that doesn’t deserve to be alive, bleeding out in this dark fucking alley.
Simon shifts his attention toward the end of the dead-end lot and then back at Derek who’s choking on his own blood. “You got him fucking good, love.”
“He had it coming,” I tell him.
“He did,” Simon reassures me. “But you can’t always take things into your own hands.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “I have to call this in. We can’t just leave him here.”
My heart nearly jumps out of my chest. “You’re going to call the cops?”
Simon sighs. “No, love. I’m going to call a clean-up crew.”
14
COEN
