Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 90919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
It wasn’t going to be me.
“Man, I’m not sure if you’re hard of hearing or just a fucking dick,” I replied. “But you need to leave.”
He laughed again, and my heart started beating at the base of my throat.
“I really need to find Richie,” he said, ignoring my words as he started toward me. He wasn’t running, but he was moving quickly. I only had a couple of seconds before he reached me.
I didn’t bother running. I knew it would be a waste of time. Instead, I let the purse swing back down to my hip and lifted the gift my brothers had presented to me on my twenty-first birthday.
He made it close enough that one of his hands tangled in my hair before I was able to pull the trigger.
Unfortunately for him, I didn’t panic. I didn’t try to wrestle him away.
I shot him.
His other hand wrapped around my throat.
I pulled the trigger again.
I gasped, trying to breathe, but I didn’t try to pry his fingers off my neck. I knew better than to try and grapple with him. The moment I lost control of the gun, it was over.
It only took a couple of seconds before his eyes widened, like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. As he fell, he ripped big chunks of my hair out, taking them with him.
He coughed and rolled to the side, one hand pressing against the wound in his torso.
I took a few steps back, holding my nine-millimeter steady.
I wanted to help him. It went against everything inside me to leave him struggling on the ground, but instinct kept me back. I could still feel the echoes of his fingers gripping my throat.
Shaking, I pulled out my phone.
It rang twice.
“Hi, baby girl, where are you?” my dad answered.
“Daddy,” I whispered, swallowing down the bile in my throat.
“Myla,” he barked, his tone changing completely. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the property,” I replied. It felt like I was speaking around broken glass.
The guy was still coughing. Still laughing, but no sound was coming out. He lifted his head to look at me, grinning with blood in his teeth.
I took another step backward.
“I’m on my way,” Dad said. “You safe?”
“I shot someone,” I rasped, struggling to raise my voice.
“You what?”
“You said I should call you first.”
“Do not move, Myla,” Dad barked. “I’m coming.”
“I’ll be here.”
I dropped the phone down to my side and stumbled back to the stairs of the RV, sitting down hard. My throat felt like it was closing up, and my scalp throbbed. I focused on pulling air into my lungs through my tight throat and letting it back out again.
He’d stopped moving around, but he was still alive. I could hear him trying to breathe.
I didn’t dare put down the pistol.
I couldn’t tell who the first person to arrive was, but I recognized the single headlight and the familiar sound of Harley pipes and knew it was a friend. I took my finger off the trigger, but I didn’t put the pistol down.
“Myla?” my brother Otto yelled frantically, pointing a flashlight toward the house.
“I’m over here,” I tried to call back, but my voice was wrecked. Using the RV door as a brace, I pushed myself to my feet. “Over here, Otto.”
“Anyone else?” he asked, running toward me.
“Well,” I looked down at the body. I wasn’t sure how to answer.
“Holy fuck,” Otto blurted as he skidded to a stop, his light illuminating the man I’d shot.
“He—I—” I squinted as the flashlight swung in my direction.
“Are you hurt?” Otto shouted. He rounded the body and came toward me fast. “Myla, are you hurt?”
“What?” I looked down in confusion.
I was covered in blood.
“It’s not mine,” I mumbled. “It’s not—he was—it’s not mine.”
“Thank Christ,” Otto breathed. His hand went to my face, and I flinched away. “You’re all right, sissy. You’re okay.”
“I think I need to sit down,” I murmured, my body starting to sway.
“Gun first,” Otto ordered, gently prying it from my fingers. He tucked it away efficiently and lifted me into his arms like a baby.
“I shot him,” I whispered, laying my head on my brother’s broad shoulder.
“Thank God,” he replied. “Good job, Myla.”
Otto carried me to the porch steps and crouched down in front of me. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“I was getting the cake,” I whispered, putting my hand to my throat. “Ashley forgot the cake, so I came to get it. It was going to be a surprise. Cian and I were fighting, and I thought if I did something nice, it would make things better. It was an olive branch.”
I looked over into the darkness by the RV. “But I dropped it.”
“He doesn’t care about the cake, My,” Otto said, rubbing my knee. “What happened after you got the cake?”
The roar of Harleys would have drowned out any answer I’d given. Bike after bike came down the road, going way too fast. The first bike stopped on a skid, spraying gravel.