by Mia Kayla
Of course, she hadn’t. How could Jordie have known that Jordan ordered an extra meal at dinner or that he still wore the cologne that Candice had given him? Only someone who had access to him on a daily basis would know such information, someone he trusted and shared intimate details about himself. It hadn’t made sense before. I’d blown it off in the height of everything that had happened.
“Jordie was meant to scare you off, but since you can’t take the hint, I’ll get rid of you permanently.” She stood, the hand holding the gun going limp at her side. “Funny, isn’t it? We both want something that we can’t have. We want him, but he’ll never be ours because he will forever belong to her.”
She knew and had accepted that fact, and I’d been wondering and in pain about it. Still, even on the floor, broken and bloody and beaten, her truthful words sliced through me.
But none of that mattered anymore either.
I wished I hadn’t left the restaurant angry and annoyed with Jordan. I wished I could take back all I had said. Because those words would be the last I ever said to him. They’d been said in the heat of the moment, and that was how he would remember me.
More regret. More pain. More sorrow.
If he were here, I’d tell him that I loved him. I’d thank him for making me feel alive and loved and cherished when I hadn’t felt that in so long.
I could hear his voice over the ringing in my ears, as though I were dreaming.
“Susie,” someone called out.
I heard Jordan’s voice, as though he was literally in the room, as though I’d wished him here.
I lifted my head as Jordan entered the restaurant, and I blinked to see if I was hallucinating, to see if he’d disappear as quickly as he’d appeared. But he didn’t. It was him.
Fear permanently settled in my gut, even as the gun tilted to the right. Jordan’s hands were up, his normally composed face panicked. For a brief moment, he gave me a once-over as if to check if I was breathing, had broken bones, or worse … was dead. Then, in the next second, his panicked face flipped to a composed expression, actor-trained.
“So, you got my letter?” she snapped, her hold on the gun steady, ready to shoot if she needed to.
No emotion showed on his face, and his voice was quiet yet firm. “Just put the gun down, Susie.”
“No.” Her voice shook the room, shook my center, shook my world.
My fear turned to resounding hysteria because she turned the gun in Jordan’s direction. I wriggled my hands together, trying to see if I could loosen the duct tape, but the pain pushed against my skin.
“I’ve worked for you for years. Watching you date a new slut each and every week. Maybe if you had picked someone who was worthy, I wouldn’t care, but every girl fit the same damn profile. Busty and dumb.” Her eyes turned feverish, and her hands shook uncontrollably now that she had the gun directed at Jordan.
“If I’d only known.” He slowly approached her.
My whole body went rigid, my breathing bursting in and out in one-millisecond puffs. All restraint and fear within me heightened as he advanced toward her. Fear crippled me with silence.
He didn’t falter, even as she repositioned both hands on the gun, her eyes darting between me and him and back again.
“Let’s just get out of here. Anywhere you want to go, I’ll go.”
Then, slowly, with the steadiest of hands, he reached for her face and brushed a strand of red hair away from her cheek. The gun was pointed at his chest, the barrel flush against his tux. Death by trigger was only a second away, but I knew she believed him because she leaned into his touch.
He could’ve grabbed the gun, but he kept his hand steady on her face. “You never gave me any indication. What was I supposed to do? Hold my breath? Confront you about my feelings?” he whispered. “I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same. I was afraid you would quit and sever our relationship.”
Her face softened, her mouth going lax. She was falling for it. Shit, I would have fallen for it, too, if I didn’t know better. If I were in her delusional, psycho mind.
“Give me the gun, baby.” The words sounded so natural, as though he’d been calling her that for years. He was doing what he did best—acting. And he was killing this scene.
And then she snapped, her eyes hardening. “No, it’s my gun.” She tightened her hold on the pistol, her face tight, and then she distanced herself. “Why should I listen to you?”
“Because I care about you, Susie,” he said with such sincerity. He nodded at me. “You hurt her, and everything is shit. We can’t be together.” One step closer. “Give me the gun.” Another step. “And I’ll go anywhere with you. We can talk about us and our relationship. No one has to get hurt.”
Her mouth slackened, and her gaze became unfocused. Indecision was all over her face.
“Please.” He didn’t take his eyes off of her, his whole body pleading with her. “Let’s get out of here.” His voice turned quiet, almost vulnerable. “You and me. Anywhere you want to go.”
I knew the exact second she’d decided because she straightened, squinting at him as though he was the target at the range. Then, she cocked the gun, and my whole world stood still. I started to scream because pure panic set in. She was crazy, and insane people didn’t value life or the calamity that they caused around them.
I started squirming and kicking and shouting and doing everything possible to divert her attention to me.
And it worked.
She kicked me hard and kept on going. In my gut, in my legs, at my side. The point of her shoe jabbed against my body like a tiny dagger against my flesh.
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” she screamed.
“Stop! Susie … stop!”
I heard my body crack from the impact of her heel and tasted blood on my lips.
She trained the gun in Jordan’s direction, and his hands were up, the mask of a composed man gone like ashes against the wind. Pure terror tore through his features. Then, she pointed the gun directly at me.
“Stop! Please, just stop!” His face crumbled, and then he dropped to the ground. “Shoot me. Take me. Just let her go.”
Her laugh was evil, sinister, the devil with the red hair.
“Oh, how I almost believed you. I almost fell for your lies, Jordan Ryder. I knew I’d never be number one—no one would compare to Candice—but I can’t settle for third or fourth or fifth best. I refuse.” Her gun flipped back and forth between us, as though she were waving a pointer finger. “Go. Go to her. I’ll allow you one last kiss before I kill her.”
When he didn’t move, she screamed, “Do it! Or else I’ll kill her now!”
He ran and then dropped to his knees, crawling to me. I tasted the saltiness of my tears and blood, a toxic mixture of pain and regret.
He cupped my face and then leaned his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry,” he said, locking eyes with mine. “I’m so sorry.”
“Kiss her,” she taunted.
He bent down, and the wetness of his cheeks meshed with mine. He cupped my face and placed a chaste kiss on my lips. “I love you,” he whispered, only loud enough for me to hear. “You’ll never know how much.” Determination was set heavy in his eyes, a decision that scared me. “I promise you’re going to be okay.”
He kissed my forehead and sat back on his heels, resolve written on his features.
“This ends now, Susie. No more violence.” He stood in front of her and pounded his chest with one heavy fist.
After he took one step toward her, she lifted her gun, pointing it directly at him.
“In about two minutes, this place will be swarmed with cops,” he told her, his voice firm, sure. “They know I’m here. They know you’re here. I texted my brothers right before I got here.”
“What?” Susie’s eyes flew to the window, her eyes going wild, her body rigid.
He didn’t give her a chance to think through her next plan of action because he rushed toward her and tackled her, their bodies cl
ashing together before they tumbled to the ground.
Their legs tangled like branches on a vine. Susie sat on top of him, straddling him. They fought to gain control of the weapon, both of their hands on the gun.
I pushed my hands against the duct tape, struggling to escape, but pain and friction hit hot and hard against my skin. I’d never felt so helpless, so useless.
She bit his hand, and when he loosened his grip on the weapon, she knocked him in the head with the butt of the gun and turned the weapon directly at him.
My scream could have cut glass, high-pitched, panicked, and screeching.
She was going to shoot him. Point-blank.
Chaos erupted around us.
Police charged in.
I screamed louder as three shots rang out, piercing my eardrums.
There was blood.
Everywhere.
It wasn’t hers.
It was his.
Chapter 32
A SWAT team stormed through the doors, taking her down with multiple shots. She was on the ground, wriggling in pain, moaning in agony. But so was Jordan.
Blood pooled all around him. His shirt turned dark red, like paint against a white canvas, initiating at his chest and spreading everywhere.
My vocal cords felt like they were bleeding, rough like sandpaper from all the screaming.
Two officers charged toward him. A few others rushed to my side. One burly and wide with a football frame and who sported a wiry beard. The other his polar opposite, leaner and taller, but I could see the strength of this man in his muscular forearms. Their mouths were moving, but I didn’t hear a word. My eyes, my singular focus, was on Jordan. Muffled noises surrounded me, as though I were inside a cave, hearing the echoing of voices, but I wasn’t able to make out the exact words.
“Jordan!” I cried. But I couldn’t even hear my own voice.
They were taking him away.
The leaner officer undid the binding of my feet and hands. And when I went to stand, I cowered. The pain shot from my side to my legs to my spine, and I staggered, about to fall until the officer caught my arm. Everything hurt, but the determination to get to Jordan helped me push through the pain.
The officer with the beard held my shoulders and gently guided me to lie down. “Are you okay, ma’am? Are you bleeding anywhere? Have you been shot?” He repeated himself again, and within seconds, his voice became vividly clear. His eyes searched my body for any injury, his fingers gently touching me, assessing me. “The paramedics are here. They’ll evaluate you.”
“No. No, sir.” Tears coursed down my face. “Jordan …” My voice was hoarse. The back of my throat felt like I had gargled acid. When I tried to move, pain shot from my ribs.
“You need to lie still. We’re getting a stretcher in here.”
They handcuffed the crazy witch, blood marring her silver dress. I didn’t know if she was alive or dead, but she wasn’t my concern anymore. My sole focus was on Jordan.
Two medics approached. One held my arms, and the other held my legs as they placed me onto the stretcher.
“Please …” It hurt to talk. It hurt to breathe. “Jordan …” I felt the searing pain of her kicks from earlier. The signs of bruising already showed itself at my calf—pink and the lightest of purples.
The medic placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You need to relax. You might have broken something, ma’am. Please stay still until we get to the hospital, and we take some X-rays. Don’t worry; we’ll get you to him. They’ve already taken him to the hospital.”
They wheeled me outside. The stars shone brightly in the dark sky above me. A crowd formed down the block, but it was roped off, closed by yellow tape. I squinted against the lights of the ambulance as we approached.
“She’s my sister!” I heard Angie’s voice break through the fog in my brain.
My head flipped around. An officer had her in a tight vise, his arms like rubber bands against her waist.
“Let me go! Let. Me. Go!” She fought against him, her feet dangling from the ground, her hands pushing against his chest.
Cade rushed behind her, his chest heaving in exertion. “Angie …”
“No! Let me go.”
Cade turned to the officer, his face hard, noting his hands wrapped tightly around his girlfriend. “Officer, I have this.”
“You’ll have to wait beyond the barricade,” he said, face devoid of emotion. “This is a crime scene.”
“No.” She wriggled in his hold.
And that was when Cade grabbed her waist and lifted her in one swift movement, taking her from the officer.
Angie pushed out of his arms and rushed over to me as the medics placed me in the ambulance. “Tene,” she cried, tears streaming down her face. She hopped into the ambulance and cowered into me. “Are you hurt? Are you bleeding?”
Cade argued with the officer. “This is her sister. She just wants to know she’s not dead. Have a little compassion, man.”
“I’m okay,” I said, far from okay. My breathing was labored. My bones and everything within me hurt. “Jordan … please. I need to see him.” It hurt to speak, and I wished someone would just get me to Jordan, so I could see with my eyes that he was okay.
“Angie, give her some space,” Cade said. “He’s been taken to the hospital. Wyatt’s with him.” He blew out a breath. “Jordan’s lost a lot of blood.” He ran one hand down his face, his mouth downturned, his features grave.
Anxiety tore through me. I needed to see him. “P-please.”
I heard the sounds of sirens and lights flickered in front of me.
I tried to sit up through all the searing pain, but I couldn’t because I was strapped down.
“Stay still. Don’t move. What are you doing?” Angie placed her hand over mine, her eyes panicked. “I promise you, you’ll see him soon.”
“You will,” Cade confirmed before kissing Angie, and the medics shut the doors.
I wiggled my fingers and my toes and bit the inside of my cheek to confirm I was still here and that this wasn’t some godforsaken nightmare. I was alive. Thank God.
Now that the adrenaline had died down, my body began to shake.
Angie fiercely gripped my hand. “You’re going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.”
The pain was overwhelming, but what overrode the agony was my undying need to see Jordan, to make sure he was okay. It hurt to talk, to move, to do anything. But my comfort was in the sounds of the sirens, knowing that I’d be at the hospital soon.
The medics wheeled me into the emergency room, and the first thing I saw was my mother’s face, her eyes red with tears. Relief flushed her features, and she rushed toward me, cupping my face and kissing my dried-up tears.
My tear ducts filled up again as a rush of emotions pushed through. “I’m sorry, Mom.” I didn’t know what I was apologizing for, but they were the first words that fell out of my mouth, and they’d needed to come out.
She brushed my hair from my cheeks as she comforted me with soothing whispers.
One medic on either side of me ushered the gurney down the hall. “Ma’am, we need to get her checked in.”
When they pushed past her, my mother’s hand was outstretched, my father holding her back.
“Tene-Tene,” she cried out.
More tears fell from my face. She hadn’t called me Tene-Tene since I was a little girl, since before the fighting started when life had been easy, and I’d worshipped the ground she walked on.
Mom, I mouthed before they pushed me past a corner, and she disappeared from view.
The pain was unbearable, but the doctors gave me painkillers to put me at ease. I was barely conscious when they wheeled me out for X-rays.
I took in their words, watching them speak, but I was in and out of consciousness and barely comprehending what was being said.
“Fractured ribs … weeks to heal …”
My mind was mush, but my thoughts were on Jordan. Breathing hurt, coughing hurt, movi
ng hurt, but I welcomed the pain because that meant I was alive and well. My body would heal eventually.
When they wheeled me into my hospital room, Angie, my parents, and Nana were all waiting for me. My mother rushed over and gripped my hand. Angie grabbed the other one.
I lifted my head through the fog—body numb but mind wide awake. “Jordan?” I rasped.
“He’s in surgery.” Angie winced. “Cade and Wyatt are with him.”
“Surgery?”
“Nothing major.” She smiled, but I could still read the worry in her eyes. “The bullet got lodged, and they need to get it out.”
I nodded but couldn’t help the tears that fell from my face. The answer wasn’t good enough. I wanted to know he was okay, wanted to see him in the flesh, kiss him, know he was alive.
My mother dabbed the tissue at my cheeks, and I closed my eyes and did what I hadn’t done in a long time—I prayed. For his safety, his well-being, for him to come back to me, whole and alive and well. I prayed until my eyes became heavy and sleep took me.
When I awoke, it was quiet, and the lights were dim. My mother was asleep on the couch against the wall.
The nurse wheeled in my food and placed it in front of me. “You should eat something.”
I sat up, but the IV tugged at my arm, where my pain meds were being administered.
I tried to clear my dry throat. I had no appetite even though it had been hours since I had anything in my stomach.
When she placed the tray in front of me and adjusted my hospital bed to an upright position, my mother stirred and stood.
When her eyes met mine, she smiled. Then, she flattened her hair and pulled down her shirt, which had ridden up when she sat up from the couch. “It’s okay. I’ll assist her.”
The nurse nodded. “I can adjust her pain meds once she has something in her stomach.” The nurse smiled and then exited the room.