by Chrys Fey
Beth wanted to spit at him from across the table.
She looked to Thorn. Blood slithered down his arm. The smell of gunpowder tinged the air and crept into her nostrils. Her stomach whirled faster.
“You okay over there?” Viper turned his head to Thorn.
“Fuck you, asshole.”
Viper laughed. “I can see why she likes you.” He winked at Beth before turning to Thorn. “You’re not so bad, pig. You’ve got guts. I like that.”
Beth was flabbergasted. This guy is psycho.
She looked at Donovan. He held her eye contact for a moment, and then his gaze lowered to the table in front of her. She lowered her gaze. Nothing was there. Her gaze ticked back to him. He gave her a slight nod. She peered back down at the table. What is he trying to tell me? There’s nothing there. She glared at the table as if she had X-ray vision. The image of Donovan’s gun taped to the bottom of the table flashed in her mind.
Her chest expanded. She tamped the urge to release a gasp. She stole a glance at Thorn.
He was looking at her, too, as if he knew what Donovan had hinted. In his eyes, she saw hope. She was their only hope of getting out of this alive. The weight of that bore down on her.
“Why are you going after Beth?” Thorn asked, drawing Viper’s attention. “Sure, she went undercover in your domain, but she wasn’t there for you. She was there to get information about Buck. I sent her there. No one else. Me. And I was the one who got SWAT to go to your house to arrest you and everyone there. Not Beth. If you should kill anyone, it should be me. And me alone.”
While Thorn spoke, Beth lifted her hands off her knees and turned them slowly so her palms faced the bottom of the table. She felt the leather of the holster housing the gun and the texture of the duct tape fastening it in place. Holding her breath, she carefully slid the gun from the holster. In her hands, it felt cold and heavy. She had killed a corrupt cop years ago, and now, she’d be killing again. Although it was in self-defense, she was well aware her count was going from one to two. It was a dark thought that would stain her for a long time.
“You’re more involved with this than I thought,” Viper said to Thorn. “I had just thought you were their bitch.”
Beth propped her hands between her knees. Looking at the table, she traced the line between her legs across the table to Viper. Based on her aim and Viper’s horrible sitting posture, she’d get him right in the chest.
“I’ve made up my mind,” Viper said. “I’ll shoot you, Detective. Then I’ll shoot the husband. Finally…” He met Beth’s glare. “I’ll end you.”
She felt for the lever on the side of the gun and toggled it up, taking it off safety. “You’ve underestimated us,” she said. Without thinking about it another second, she squeezed the trigger. The bang rang out loud and clear. Viper flinched back. She squeezed the trigger two more times. Viper fell backward, knocking over his chair.
During the moment of shock, Thorn propelled back, out of the line of fire, and grabbed Anthony’s hand. He wrenched the man’s arm across his chest. A bullet escaped the gun and hit the wall. Thorn thrust up his uninjured arm, cracking his elbow into Anthony’s face again and again. When his hand loosened, Thorn ripped the gun away and pointed it at Anthony’s head. “Don’t move.”
On the other side of the kitchenette, Donovan had shoved Omar into the wall. His fist crashed into Omar’s face several times. When Omar toppled to the ground, Beth stomped on the hand that grasped the gun and lined up her shot. “Try it, and I’ll shoot you dead.”
Donovan kicked the gun out of the Omar’s hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him do the same to the gun clamped in Viper’s hand. Then he bent over him. Beth’s heart still hammered in her chest.
Donovan came to her side. “He’s dead,” he whispered. His hands wrapped around hers, and he slipped the gun from her fingers. He took her place, training the gun on the man at their feet.
“Beth, call 9-1-1. Tell them two officers and a wanted criminal are down.” Thorn paused. “Make sure to tell them two other wanted criminals are waiting to be arrested for attempted murder.”
Beth hurried into the bedroom. She dropped onto the bed and picked up the phone. Her hand shook as she jabbed the three buttons. I had to do it. Just like before. I had to do it.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
A crime scene unit van, an ambulance, a coroner’s van, and three cop cars clogged the motel’s parking lot. Cops handcuffed Anthony and Omar, and paramedics quickly ushered Thorn and Beth to their bus. They cleaned and bandaged Thorn’s arm. For Beth, they wrapped her in a blanket and gave her oxygen because she was hyperventilating. The two of them, joined by Donovan who was not letting his wife out of his sight, sat in the ambulance, shaken by the events that had just unfolded. Donovan rubbed Beth’s arms as she shook and wheezed for breath. He whispered to her, hoping to calm her. Several minutes passed before she had a handle on her adrenaline crash.
After Donovan explained his side of what happened to the cops, he walked over to where Beth sat on the curb. The blanket had slipped off her shoulders. He sat down next to her. Slinging his arm around her, he pulled her close.
“It’s strange,” Beth said, ending their silence. “I had thought I’d care… At first, I thought I did care…that I had killed another person. Shooting Chewy hadn’t really fazed me because I didn’t know him. He was a murderer, and he had a gun on us. So, I thought adding Viper to that list, making it two people, would’ve impacted me more. But Viper was just a person I confronted once while in a disguise. I had forgotten all about him. Then when he started all this, he became a nightmare I wanted to end. I killed a nightmare.” She turned to him. “I wasn’t hyperventilating because I had killed Viper, but because the two people I love the most were almost murdered by him. That is what I cared about…you and Thorn. Nothing else mattered. When it was over, the realization of how close it came hit me hard.”
Donovan framed her face with his hands and pressed his lips to her forehead. He understood and didn’t have to say so. Kissing her, holding her was more powerful than saying, “I understand.”
She laid her head on his shoulder and looked toward the ambulance. Thorn still sat on the tailgate while the medics looked him over. “Thorn’s helped us and come to our rescue time and time again,” she said. “I never thought we’d pull him into our mess like this. We should hold a barbeque in his honor. The first person on the invite list will be Amanda.”
Donovan smiled. “He’d like that.”
****
The next day, Donovan picked up his monster truck at his mechanic’s garage. Beth came with him. The first thing he did was pop the hood and check for any sign of a snake’s head painted on the metal. Nothing. He examined the body of the truck for things that shouldn’t be there. He paused next to the cobra posing to strike on the side of the truck. Viper had used snakes as his symbol, and he had used them to taunt Beth.
“Maybe I should change my truck’s design.”
“You can’t do that.” Beth’s hand slid over the cobra’s body. “You have fans. Venom will always be your truck, and the cobra will always be your symbol. You can’t change it. You shouldn’t.” She faced him. “And I don’t want you to.” A sly smile took her lips. “I have fond memories of this truck, and I plan on making more of them with you.”
Donovan grinned. Yes, they had fond memories with his truck. Like the first time he had taken her for a ride around his track. It had ended with a steamy encounter.
He transported his monster truck back to his private garage. Seeing the truck back in its rightful place felt good. “It’s good to have it back.” He reached up to pull the door down.
“Wait.” Beth stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Let’s take it for a spin.”
“You’re sure?”
“Definitely.”
In the driver’s seat, he slipped the keys in the ignition. He twisted the key, starting the massive
engine. Beth sat in the seat next to him. He grinned at her. “Ready?”
She turned to him. Her eyes sparkled. “Always.”
Epilogue
One week later…
Beth paced the cold tile in their master bathroom. Back and forth. Back and forth. She wrung her hands. Her heart pounded. When she reached the door, she spun on her heel and passed three different pregnancy tests sitting on the counter. She anxiously counted down the seconds until the results would come through.
She had to be sure.
In the past, every time she took a test, the results had crushed her. She had taken several without Donovan’s knowledge and kept the negative results from him, not wanting him to have the same disappointment that ripped at her heart. But that morning, she woke up in bed alone and had to rush to the bathroom. After releasing the contents of her stomach, she sat on the floor and wondered, what if this isn’t a bug? What if this is morning sickness?
It made sense. She usually never had an illness this long, and she’d been experiencing nausea every day after lunch and dinner. She had sent out a prayer as she peed on the test strips.
She paused in front of the counter and studied herself in the mirror. Her skin seemed to have a luminescence to it. Her eyes glittered. Even her hair seemed shiny with vitality. She cupped her breasts. Did they feel heavier? They were a little tender, but they usually were before her menstrual cycle, except her period was late by two weeks.
She turned sideways and examined her belly. Of course, there was no difference, but she tried to imagine herself with a large belly heavy with a baby. What would she look like pregnant? She balled up a towel and stuffed it under her tank top. With her athletic body, the bump extending from her belly looked out of place but cute. Her eyes lowered to where the towel poked out from under her tight top. The teal color where her skin should’ve been ruined the moment. Rolling her eyes, she ripped the towel away.
She checked the timer. Another minute remained. She forced her gaze to stay off the little strips, though their power was magnetizing. She knew they there, working their magic. But would that magic be good or bad?
Her gaze roamed around the bathroom. Maybe I should clean the toilet. That’ll take some time. But considering she had just thrown up in it, she really didn’t want to do that. She looked around for something to distract her. Why the hell don’t we keep magazines in here? Although she doubted she’d be able to concentrate on a magazine, she could flip the pages and stare at the pictures. That would be a lot better than going out of her mind.
She started to pace again.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
Positive or negative?
Back and forth. Back and forth.
She thought about Donovan holding a pink bundle, as a wail pierced the air. Her chest tightened. Damn, he would look so sexy as a new father. Her cheeks warmed at the thought.
But if the results were negative—three, bold, screaming negatives—she wouldn’t tell him. She’d shelter him from the devastation, and she’d take out her grief on a punching bag.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
Positive or negative?
Back and forth. Back and forth.
The rattle of the egg timer going off made Beth freeze. She took a slow, deep breath, bracing herself for the news, and turned to the counter. Eyeing her reflection, she took a step toward the counter. We can do it, Beth. We’ve got this.
Her gaze lowered.
The first test strip had a blue plus sign in the window—Pregnant.
The second test strip had two pink lines in the window—Pregnant.
The final one said it simply—Pregnant.
She clamped her hand over her mouth. Her knees gave, and she sank to the floor. Happy tears plunged down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook as she cried. Finally. After months and months of trying to get pregnant, after the bitter disappointment and the guilt, finally, she was pregnant.
She clutched the counter, as if it was an anchor that would keep her from floating with pure delight. She dropped her hand from her mouth and a laugh escaped. A laugh through the tears.
Finally.
She stayed on the floor another moment while she let her emotions ebb. Then she rose to her feet. Automatically, she double-checked the results, afraid her eyes had tricked her, but the results were the same.
She splashed water onto her face and schooled her breathing to keep more tears from coming. Now she had to tell Donovan, and she didn’t want her face to give it away. She gathered the three test strips. Her hand clutched them as if they would vanish, taking away the positive results and all her dreams with them.
Donovan was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. “Hey, baby.”
She smiled. The term of endearment made her stomach jitter and her excitement soar.
She bent over, giving him a kiss on the temple. With her free hand on his shoulder, she stepped behind his chair. “I have something to show you.” From behind his back, she selected the strip with the two pink lines and set it in front of him.
He looked at the pregnancy test and lowered his cup of coffee to the table.
After a moment, she placed the second one next to the first.
He didn’t move.
She set the last one down.
He launched to his feet and faced her. His eyes were wide and glistening. “You’re pregnant?”
Heart bursting with love, she nodded. “I’m pregnant.”
Donovan swept her up in his arms.
She wrapped her legs around him as his mouth sought hers. She tasted the saltiness of their tears as they kissed.
She now had everything she had ever wanted—a man who was her soulmate, a home they could build memories in, and a baby who would have the best parts of both of them.
A word about the author…
Chrys Fey is the author of the Disaster Crimes Series, a unique concept blending romance, crimes, and disasters. She’s partnered with the Insecure Writer’s Support Group and runs their Goodreads book club. She’s also an editor for Dancing Lemur Press.
Fey realized she wanted to write by watching her mother pursue publication. At the age of twelve, she started her first novel, which flourished into a series she later rewrote at seventeen.
Fey lives in Florida and is always on the lookout for hurricanes. She has four cats and three nephews; both keep her entertained with their antics.
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