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“Tape his wrists, Melody,” Henry calls. “Or I fucking shoot you in the knee. You don’t need it for where we’re going anyway.”
I look up at Knox. I don’t know what’s going on inside me. I’m so numb. All the fear, all the anger, is just gone. I need him to run, though. Because if he doesn’t, Henry will use him against me.
I know that with certainty.
“Run,” I mouth.
He finally nods once.
I spin and rush at Henry at the same time that Knox bolts across the garage aisle. I crash into my ex-husband, and the gun goes off right next to my head. The sound is worse than a thunderclap directly overhead. It stabs into my ears, and I let out a shriek thatfeelssolid but sounds like nothing.
There’s just a piercing ringing.
I’m shoved to the concrete. It bites into my forearms and knees, bits of stone and dirt clinging to my skin. I crawl, flinching when another shot goes off.
A weight presses on my spine, flattening me to the ground and stopping my desperate movement. Hands touch me. I can’t tell if I’m hallucinating or if this is actually happening.
I should scream.
But all I can do is suffer flashbacks of pain, and it freezes me from the inside out. Even as I’m hoisted up and maneuvered toward the open trunk.
He’s going to take me and I’m going to disappear.
“Hey!”
A door crashes against a wall in the distance.
“Get away from her!”
Henry huffs.
We’re so close to the trunk.
My fight kicks in. And suddenly I’m scratching and swinging with everything I have. I put my feet on the bumper of the car and propel us backward, and he drops me flat on my back. Pain echoes through my body, knocking the wind from my lungs.
His laugh haunts me. “Until next time, darling.”
And then he’s gone.
I lie panting on the ground, unable to move. Not until someone grabs my arm and helps me into a sitting position.
Willow.
“Breathe,” she says, rubbing my back. “He’s gone. Take a deep breath for me, Mel.”
Miles is right behind her, his phone to his ear.
“The police are coming,” he says to us.
My chest finally loosens, and I inhale.
The other two guys, Greyson and Steele, are helping Knox out between two cars—and Knox is bleeding. He cradles his arm against his stomach.
“Oh, no,” I gasp, climbing to my feet and shooting forward. I stop short of touching his arm. “Was that from his gun?”
“I think it’s just a graze,” Knox says with a wince. “Hurts like a bitch, but I’ll be okay.”
And Jacob is still playing.
