AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Beck’s going to die if I don’t do something. He came to rescue me, and unless I figure out some way to help, I’m going to watch the father of my baby and the love of my life get beaten into a bloodstain on this godforsaken floor.
I twist and jerk. Every motion hurts like hell, sandpaper on open nerve endings, but I don’t stop. Beck needs me. Left and right, right and left, backwards and forward and up and down untilholyfuckingshit,one hand is free.
The sensation returning to my fingers hurts almost as much as the bindings on my raw skin, but still, I don’t stop. I rip the other one loose.
This one is in worse shape, though. Either broken or sprained, and close to unusable. I rely on my good wrist and muddle through with the bad one to untie my legs and then I stand.
Neither one of the men notices. They’re still a tangle of bloodied limbs on the ground. Just as I find my feet, though, it seems to occur to Anton that he can end this a lot faster using the business end of the gun.
He shoves Beck away, lunges to his feet, and levels it at Beck’s face.
Time slows to a crawl. My world shrinks to what’s right in front of me.
Beck. Anton. A gun. Blood. And at my feet… a gallon of paint.
I spring forward, snatch up the metal handle, and swing the gallon with every ounce of might I can muster behind it. Anton looks up at the very last second, just in time for his eyes to bulge as the blunt weapon hurtles toward him.
WHAM.Home fucking run.
I hear the tin crunch against his skull. He crumbles like a lawn chair and goes down in sections. His knees hit the floor first, then his ass, then he falls to the side and smacks his head on the floor.
My hands hurt so bad that I let the can go on my follow-through. Blue paint sloshes everywhere as the can flies out of my grasp and collies in the far corner with a dull thump. I’m dripping in paint; so is Anton; so is Beck; so is the wall. It might even befunny if it weren’t mixing with the dark red of far, far too much of Beck’s blood.
I cry out in pain and collapse to my knees, burying my face in my hands. Tears come, and I’m not sure what kind they are—relieved, scared, happy, sad, confused—but they just keep coming anyway.
“Did I kill him?” I croak. I don’t know that I care, but if the cops are going to show up—and if I’ve killed him, they will have to come— I need to have some shit figured out.
Beck shakes his head and spits a broken tooth on the floor. “No, the fucker’s breathing.” He smiles at me, the gap in his grin filling with more blood. “He’s just taking a nap.”
He drags himself upright with a pained groan. Then he takes the ropes Anton used to tie me to the chair, flips Anton onto his belly, and hogties him.
“You're pretty good with knots.” Of all times to make bondage jokes, I can’t believe I chose now. I think it’s mostly because if I don’t laugh, I’m going to cryserioustears. The kind that just keep coming.
Beck looks up at me and smiles. Well, the half of his mouth that still works right smiles, at least. The other half is swollen to shit and it might be a while before it’s functional again. “You don’t know the half of it, angel.”
He uses the wall to help himself back upright from where he’s kneeling next to the comatose Anton, then he pulls his phone from his pocket and dials.
“I found the son a bitch who’s been stealing your money and screwing you over,” he snarls into the mouthpiece. I haven’tmentioned to Beck what Anton said, so I don’t know how he knows that Anton was skimming off the Bloodhound’s receipts.
We’ll figure it all out later. Right now, I’m just drawing in one breath of air at a time, in sync with Beck’s inhales and exhales. That’s all that matters—he’s here, I’m here, our baby is here, and everyone who matters is safe.
He hangs up the phone and nods at me, which is all the communication we need. All that’s left is to wait for the Bloodhound to arrive. I’ve never been excited to see him before, but now, I am.
I suppose there’s a first time for everything.
54
BECK
In his day, my old man was a good-looking guy. Cigarettes and booze and a lifetime of loan sharking has stolen some of that appeal from him.
Anger snatches away the rest of it.
When he’s raging like this, he turns into something fearsome. He’s vibrating with anger, face redder than I‘ve ever seen it, eyes darker with rage. I won’t be poking the bear today. I’ve been on the receiving end of it enough times as a boy to know just how violent, how terrifying it can be.
I’m not that scared anymore.
Anton should be, though.
