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Moments later, police sirens can be heard wailing in the distance, but there’s no end to this game. There will be no winner. They’ll either arrive and aim their weapons at us or Weston’s gun will go off.
We continue to wrestle on the ground, and somehow, I manage to twist the gun to face him, but he’s relentless as our hands tangle for it.
Then it happens too fast.
I hear the shot.
I feel warmth.
I see blood and skin.
Then all that can be heard is my erratic breathing. Am I shot? Did he shoot me?
Hunter and Liam pull me off him, and it’s then I see Weston’s lifeless body on the ground. I’ve never seen them so shook up in my life. Adrenaline pumps through me, but my mind can’t seem to handle the rush or the shock as I push them off me, rubbing my blood-covered hands down my chest and stomach.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” I reassure them.
The three of us gaze down and see the bullet wound to his head.
Oh my God.
“Fuck!” Liam yells, running his fingers through his hair as he paces. A few people from the reception walk toward us, horror written on their faces as they screech. Hunter begins to panic as half a dozen squad cars race into the parking lot.
“Calm down,” I tell everyone, knowing shit’s about to get hectic as fuck. The cops are going to take our statements, and a team will analyze the crime scene. The people who surround us look at me like I’m a monster, like I’m a murderer. With red on my hands and clothes, I look guilty as fuck.
It was self-defense. I can claim it all day, and I have witnesses. But it doesn’t mean a man didn’t die because of me, regardless of the fucking circumstances. I didn’t like the guy, but I didn’t want things to happen this way. The emotions swirl inside my head, unable to sort them properly as the shock of this whole thing soars through me.
Several police officers whip open their car doors with their guns drawn, shouting at us to show them our hands and not to move. We lift our arms, surrendering so they know we’re not a threat. They can see Weston on the pavement, the gun next to me, and how I’m covered in his blood and confirm I’m the guy they want. The cops keep their guns pointed as one officer rushes over, shouting at me to get on my knees and put my hands behind my head.
I do as I’m told, and then he forcefully cuffs my wrists behind my back.
As the officer helps me stand, I look at Hunter and Liam who look distraught and scared as hell.
“Wanna tell me what happened here?” the officer asks.
I ignore him, knowing my rights. I’m not saying a damn thing without counsel, even if it was self-defense. I know how fucked up the justice system can be, and I’m not about to incriminate myself.
“Call Serena!” I yell at Liam as the officer starts pushing me away from the scene. “Tell her to come to the station, but not to tell my father!”
He immediately nods, knowing exactly why I’d trust her. Before I can say anything else to them, the officer jerks me to his car.
So many thoughts run through my head. Anger mixes with regret, but I remind myself why I confronted him in the first place. I did it for Sophie, for her safety, and I’d do it again if it meant keeping him away from her.
I glance over my shoulder and watch as one officer covers the body while others put up yellow caution tape around the crime scene. Seconds later, I catch sight of Lennon, Sophie, and Maddie talking to Hunter and Liam. The girls look confused and shocked, and I wish I could hear what the cops were saying to them. Sophie’s hysterical, so I’m sure they just told her the news about Weston. I turn my head, not able to watch her cry for that piece of shit who hit and threatened to kill her. I have no doubt it would’ve led to that.
Right now, I want to be invisible. The world around me begins to fade, and I try to tune out the screams and cries of the guests as word of what happened spreads. As I’m forcefully shoved into the back of the squad car, realization of what took place begins to set in as an officer jumps into the front seat, then drives us away.
I killed Sophie’s boyfriend.
I fucked up, and I’m going to pay for it.
Chapter One
Mason
THREE YEARS BEFORE THE FIGHT
As sweat drips down my forehead and into my eyes, I punch the bag with as much force as I can, knocking it harshly from left to right. The burn in my knuckles is a welcome pain, especially after the shit day I’ve had.
