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He raises the shotgun, finger curling around the trigger. In a swift motion, I duck to the side, narrowly avoiding the blast. He tries to shoot a second time but it gets jammed.
I waste no time seizing this opportunity. Lunging forward, I tackle him…our bodies crashing to the porch in a tangle of limbs. The shotgun skitters across the floor. And I kick it so neither of us can reach it.
My fists pound against his chest and face, letting my rage consume me as I take advantage of the surge of strength. A primal roar escapes me as my fist connects with his jaw. He retaliates with a vicious swing of his own, the impact sending a shockwave of pain through my cheek.
He’s strong. But he underestimates how my protective instincts for Andrea help push me beyond the limits of my own endurance.
I unleash a barrage of punches and the asshole just laughs through split lips. Fatigue gnaws at my muscles but I don’t stop. Not until he’s slumped on the ground, blood trickling down his broken nose. A cut on his eyebrow.
I stand up and watch him for a few seconds, assessing whether he’s just playing me. But no. I did a number on him. Good.
Picking up the shotgun, I carry it with me and run inside. It’s as small as my beach house. One bedroom. Andrea’s not there.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Andrea?” I bellow.
“Andrew? Andrew, I’m here!”
I follow the sound of her voice, leading me to a small dimly lit pantry behind the kitchen. “Andrea? You here?”
“Yes!”
Losing patience, I sweep an arm across the pantry shelves, sending boxes and cans crashing to the floor. There. A doorknob. I twist it and it opens.
I drop the shotgun to the floor, running to Andrea, and taking her in my arms. The doctor in me makes me pull back, scanning her face and body for obvious injuries. “Did he hurt you?”
She shakes her head wildly, tears streaming down her face. “No.”
I carry her in my arms and sit her in the dining room. Grabbing a knife, I cut through the ropes. Another surge of fury washes over me at the sight of her skin—red, chafing, and with raw patches. She flexes her hands and wiggles her toes.
I kneel in front of her and bury her face in my chest. She wraps her arms around me and cries. I could kill that piece of shit for hurting and scarring her like this.
“He won’t bother you again, baby. I’ll make sure of it.”
“He was my stalker,” she says, voice muffled.
“I know, love. Today’s his last day as a free man.”
Sirens blaring. Flickering red and blue lights. The squad cars screech to a halt outside the cabin. Doors slamming shut. Boots pounding against the ground. Yelling. More yelling.
About damn time.
Let them find him. I’m not leaving Andrea. Never again.
Uniformed police flood the inside of the cabin, heading straight to us. I’m about to tell them about Blaine when a familiar figure cuts through them. Some of the officers try to hold him but I wave them away. “He’s her father.”
Paul’s eyes meet mine. In that brief moment, understanding passes between us. We share a common goal—protect and ensure Andrea’s safety. I nod to him and lead the police away so they can have their moment.
He suddenly grabs my arm, gripping me tightly. I turn to him and see his eyes glisten. He’s swallowing hard. “Thank you.”
“I’d do anything for her, Paul. Same as you.”
“I know. I know that now.”
10
ANDREA
