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Is this what he does? Lures his victims into his home and then kills them?
Fuck.Why didn’t I think to ask what type of person Michael usually targets?
“Athelia,” Kellan says calmly, “you need to get away from him.”
“You can’t tell me what to do,” she bites out.
“Who are these fucks?” Michael asks. “I can get them to leave.”
Athelia hasn’t stopped glaring at us. There’s something else written on her features, not nearly as visible as the anger but still there nonetheless.
Betrayal.
“Athelia,” I say. “We didn’t—”
“Fuck you, Cal. Just leave.”
“We can’t do that.” Wes takes a tentative step forward. His hand is resting on his gun, which is still hidden under his leather jacket. “Just come over here.”
Michael crosses his arms, showcasing his huge, muscular arms. “You heard her. Fuck off.”
Wes’s voice is hard, but I don’t miss the undercurrent of desperation. “Athelia,please.”
Athelia narrows her eyes at his words. Wesley Carver doesn’t say please, and she knows it. Her eyes flick to mine before she takes a small step toward the stairs. “What’s going on?”
Michael watches us carefully. Just as Athelia takes another step, his gaze zeros in on Wes’s hand. He must put the pieces together fast. In a split second, he has Athelia in his hold and has a knife pressed to her throat.
She cries out, but she doesn’t try to struggle. Not with the blade threatening to slice her skin open with the slightest movement.
Almost as quickly as Michael grabs Athelia, we have our guns out and pointed at him. He just laughs.
“Go ahead, shoot. Be careful not to miss, though. Don’t want to take out the wrong person by accident.”
I tighten my grip on my gun but don’t shoot. Out of the three of us, Wes has the best aim, but I’m too afraid to take my eyes off Athelia to see if he’s going to take the shot.
Athelia touches his arm gently. “Mike, you don’t have to—”
“Shut up,” he snaps. He pulls her back a step, watching us carefully. “Put the fucking guns down. There’s no point in—”
A single, deafening gunshot echoes off the trees. The second Michael drops to the floor, I shove my gun into its holster and bolt for the porch.
Wes and Kellan do the same, but I get there first. Athelia fell when Michael did, and the knife is on the floor a couple feet away.
“Athelia—baby, don’t look.” I grab Athelia’s chin just as she’s about to turn to look at Michael. “Just focus on me. Did he hurt you?”
“You… you had guns,” she says as she blinks up at me. She’s shaking, and she flinches when I lift her to her feet.
“We’ll explain later,” I tell her. “For now, we need to get you cleaned up, and I need to check on your ribs.”
I don’t think she even realizes she has blood splattered on her face. Her hands curl around the leather material of my jacket as she stares at Wes and Kellan. They’re watching us silently, blocking her view of Michael’s mangled face.
“You shot him,” Athelia says numbly.
“He was gonna kill you,” Wes says.
Athelia leans into me as she furrows her brows. “How did you know you wouldn’t shoot me?”
“You’re considerably shorter than he was.”
