I feel for a pulse, and with relief, it’s still strong.
I’m grabbed from behind and I throw my head back, feeling the back of my head collide with something solid. A muffled curse follows and the grip on me loosens, but when I throw my full strength against the hold and expect to break free, I’m surprised to find my body is sluggish. There’s a burning pain in my chest and a sphere of icy numbness spreading out from the point of heat.
I look down and see the blood gushing over the arm wrapped tightly around me. My blood.
Fuck. He shot me.
Something whistles through the air and the man holding me lets go immediately. I turn in time to see him collapse and to see Camille standing there with the tire iron in her hand.
“You were supposed to stay in the--” It feels like the ground lurches beneath me, throwing off my balance. I stagger to the side, barely catching myself on a broken table.
“Dean!” she shouts, hurrying to my side and helping hold me up. “Oh my God. You’re hurt.”
“It’s okay,” I say, looking down at the bloody hole on the right side of my chest. “I don’t think there’s anything important inside me on that side. Right?”
She makes an incredulous face. “There’s your fucking insides, Dean. You’re shot. We have to get you out of here to a doctor.”
“We need to bring Sean. We have to find Jen.”
“I’ll get it out of him, but we’re getting you to a doctor first. Give me your phone,” she says, rooting through my pants to find it without waiting for my help.
She pulls it out and growls in frustration. “Give me your finger,” she says, yanking my hand to the fingerprint reader on the phone to sign in.
She taps her fingers rapidly and puts it up to her ear, calling someone. I watch it all through blackening vision and fading awareness. When I look down and see how soaked my shirt is with blood, I feel vaguely surprised, but it doesn’t seem as urgent as it probably should. I have an overwhelming need to lie down and take a nap. The only thing keeping me from taking the rest I need is Jen. I won’t stop looking until we’ve found her. No matter--
18
Camille
Dean suddenly seems to get ten times heavier and slips out of my grip, slamming to the ground. “Murph!” I shout into the phone. “Dean’s shot. Help me get him out of here! Did you see where we went?”
“We’re coming,” says Murph, hanging up.
The gunfire is now scattered and unenthusiastic, just like the hours after a Fourth of July celebration, there are random pops and loud bangs, but it’s nothing like the storm of just a few minutes ago.
I take off the thin white cardigan I’m wearing and ball it up, pressing it to Dean’s bullet wound to stifle the bleeding. Dean looks unconscious, but when I try lifting his hands and putting them on top of the balled cardigan, he pushes down. Good. That means I can focus my attention on Sean, who is groaning and struggling to his feet.
I grab the pistol and aim it at Sean, who still doesn’t see me. He’s on his hands and knees now, shaking his head and blinking through some sort of pain.
This is it. This is the moment I think I’ve always secretly hoped for. Even at times when I thought I couldn’t go through with it if I had the chance, I hoped. The anger and hatred in my chest boil together in a sickening swirl, threatening to contaminate me forever. My finger is tight on the trigger, inching toward the fatal decision.
I see all the times he hit me play across my mind, all the times he used his poisonous words to hurt me--to cripple. I remember all the things he did to me without remorse and without mercy and can’t find a reason to forgive him or spare him. He deserves this. Doesn’t he?
My hands shake, making the gun unsteady, but I never take the sights away from him.
“Camille?” he asks, looking up now and sinking back to sit on his knees, facing me with a look of disbelief. “The fuck you think you’re going to do with that? Put it down before you hurt yourself.”
“Fuck you,” I say. My finger tightens even more on the trigger until I’m sure even the slightest breath would make the gun go off, but I relax slightly when I remember Jen. I have to find out where she is. More than I need revenge or payback or justice, I need to get her back. One little girl already lost her life within an arm’s reach of me, and if another joins that list, I know I won’t be able to live with myself.
I push down my anger, feeling the black hatred threatening to burst free at any moment. Holding on to it is like swallowing a burning coal. The heat and fire settles in my chest, igniting me from the inside out, but I steel myself against it for Jen.
“Where’s Jen?” I ask.
Sean starts to stand.
“Stay on your knees!” I shout, jabbing the gun toward him.
He laughs--actually laughs--and continues standing. He even takes a step toward me, arm stretching toward the gun. “We both know you’re not--”
I lower my aim and squeeze the trigger.
Sean’s jeans seem to jump out and he spins to the ground, clutching his leg. Blood starts to pool beneath him. He looks up at me, face a mask of rage. “You fucking bitch!”
“Where. Is. Jen?” I say with far more control than I feel.
He watches me, searching for some sign of weakness or some signal that my standing up to him was a fluke and apparently fails to find it. He shakes his head, face already breaking into a sweat from the pain. “You’re dead to me.”
“Good,” I say.
He spits. “I fucking loved you. More than that rich prick ever will. You realize what you’re throwing away?”
“Sean,” I say. “You don’t own me anymore. I regret every second I spent with you, and I hope no one ever has to make the same mistake I did. Then again, maybe you can find a boyfriend in prison to treat like shit when this is all over.”
“Prison?” he asks, then he forces a laugh through clenched teeth. “I’m not going to prison.”
“You can tell me where Jen is and go to prison, or you can keep quiet and go to a cemetery,” I say. Despite the emotions that rage inside me, I know I’m bluffing now. I already feel sick when I look at the blood spreading down his leg, knowing that I caused that, no matter how much he deserves it, I know killing Sean would be a loss somehow. The only way I can truly come out of all this a better person and stronger is by not giving in to my anger. Besides, if I actually had it in me to kill him, that’d be letting him off easy. I think a long, boring life in prison is just what he deserves.
He looks up at me and apparently doesn’t see any of the true feelings I have, because he sighs and slams a fist on the ground. “Fuck it. You want to know where she is? Fine. Barry didn’t pay me enough for this shit. She’s here in this trailer park.” He laughs a little. “You know I was going to give her back if you followed through? You know that?”
“You never had me. Not really,” I say, turning away from him. “I was just a hostage to you. That’s all I ever was.”
“Camille,” he says firmly, but even his scorn has no grip on me anymore, and I keep my back to him, kneeling to tend to Dean.
“Camille!” he shouts again.
“You fucking coward,” growls the big man who was on the ground until now. He’s coming to his feet now, wincing but holding the tire iron I hit him with. He advances toward me and all I can think to do is bend over Dean, shielding his body with my own, but I hear the big footsteps pass by me. I chance a look and see the big man lifting Sean like he’s a misbehaving child. “I heard everything.”
“Fuck you too. You’re just Barry’s bitch.”
“Maybe,” says the man gruffly, “But being his bitch pays well, and he’s going to want to get his hands on you after this.”
“What about them?” says Sean in a near whimper. “You’re just going to leave them here?”
“I can blame that on you. I was listening to that woman said to you,” he chuckles. “I like her. So yeah, I’m letting them go.”
I watch in utter disbeli
ef as the man hauls Sean out of the trailer and stomps off until his footsteps are completely gone. It’s only then I realize the gunshots have stopped too.
It feels like ages before Murph, Tanner, and several of the security contractors help me get him up.
“Fuck,” mutters Murph when he sees the bloody cardigan I’m holding over Dean’s wound.
“She’s here,” I say. “Jen. Sean admitted she’s here somewhere. Hold this tight,” I say, taking Murph’s hand and putting it on the cardigan. “I saw which way Sean came in, and I think I know where she’ll be.”
The remaining four men with rifles follow me, constantly aiming and looking up toward where Sean--or Barry’s men had been firing down before. They say something in low voices and one of the men runs off in the direction Sean and the big man with the tire iron went.
I move as fast as I can, tearing through every mobile home that looks remotely safe. Some are overturned or half-sunken into the ground, and I don’t think even Sean would stash a little girl in a situation like that.
I step inside one of the last mobile homes I haven’t checked on this side of the park, completely oblivious to the threat of bullets by this point, and see her. She’s sitting with her knees up and bound with rope. There’s a black cloth stuffed and taped in her mouth. Jen’s eyes widen when she sees me and immediately fill with tears.
I run to her, hugging her tightly. “Someone cut her out of this fucking rope!” I shout.
One of the men comes forward and carefully cuts her free. Jen rips the tape off her own mouth and spits out the rag before anyone has a chance to help.
“Can I say a swear word?” asks Jen.
“What?” I ask.
“Fuck!” shouts Jen, and then with a sigh of apparent relief, she sinks back against the wall and smiles at me. “Sorry. I had a lot of time to think and I decided one of my biggest regrets was never having said all the curse words out loud before I died. Shit,” she adds in a small voice and smiles unapologetically. “Now I have!”
I hug her again, closing my eyes and trying to let it all sink in. “You’re safe,” I say. “I’m so glad you’re safe. And I’m so, so sorry this happened.”
“Don’t be sorry. You came for me and you saved me. And now I got to say all the curse words. Just don’t tell daddy.” Her smile falters. “Where is he?”
“He’s okay, but we need to have a doctor look at him. The men who took you hurt him, but I know he’ll be okay,” I say, hating how much my voice shakes as I speak. He will be okay, because if he’s not I’ll kick his ass for showing me how wonderful life can be and then dying on me.
The men lead us back to the car, still keeping their eyes up, but everyone who wanted to hurt us seems to have left, thankfully. I hold Jen close either way, not wanting to risk anything else happening to her.
We catch up with Murph and Tanner, who are huffing and puffing from the strain of carrying Dean’s muscular frame the distance back to the cars. One of the security men slings his rifle over his back and chips in, helping them cross the rest of the distance back to a grassy field where I see Dean’s car and two blacked out SUVs.
“What happened?” I ask as they help ease Dean into the backseat of his car.
One of the men leans in the back door and I slide in beside Dean, putting his head in my lap. “We were outnumbered,” says the man. “They had at least a dozen on the other side of the valley. Once Dean took down Sean though, they gave up fighting. We lost four.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
“Ma'am, you had better go,” says the man. His voice is hard, but I can see the pain in his eyes. Even professional soldiers can’t be used to losing friends, and my heart goes out to them, though right now all I can think about is making sure Dean is okay.
“Go!” I shout, once Tanner and Jen hop in the driver and passenger seats, leaving Murph to ride with the security.
Tanner makes a call on the way back, and we end up going to the mansion, where Dean has a private team of doctors on twenty-four hour call and a fully equipped medical room waiting--another ridiculously expensive addition in this mansion of his.
The doctor takes a quick look at him, listens to his heartbeat, and carefully inspects the wound. He pulls the stethoscope plugs from his ears and gives me a reassuring smile. “The bullet missed all his organs. Once we get some blood transfusions going, he should recover very quickly. He’s a very lucky man. A few inches in any direction and this wound could have been fatal. Instead he’s just looking at some muscle soreness for a couple weeks and a little bed rest.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, hugging his unconscious form. Jen joins me and I hear her sniffling. I put a hand on her back and she leans her head into me. When we straighten back up, she moves to stand beside me and clutches my hand, hugging my side as we watch the nurses hook Dean up to machines and start the blood transfusion.
I close my eyes, hugging her back and squeezing her hand. “Thank you,” I say.
“For what?” she asks.
“Not hating me, I guess.”
“I didn’t hate you. I just couldn’t let you off too easy.”
“Let me off easy? For what?”
“Well you lied, for starters. fiancée?” she asks, eyes narrowed. “Come on.”
“What?” I ask. My stomach clenches and my heart starts to pound. “I’ve known your father for a long time. We dated for several months before--”
“Daddy said the woman he was dating had black hair and brown eyes.” She reaches out and holds up the ends of my hair as if showing me. “Blonde and blue. Hmmm.”
My cheeks flush red. “You must be remembering wrong.”
“I’m not mad,” says Jen. “But you can tell me the truth now. I won’t tell daddy.”
I sigh. “The truth is complicated, and I don’t think he’d want me to tell you all of it. The best I can do is tell you that you’re right. We aren’t actually engaged,” I say. Hearing the words out loud hurts more than I thought it would. “The night you met me was actually the night I met your father.”
“Why pretend? I don’t get it.”
“I think he worried you’d be upset if he brought a new woman home. He made up the story about his relationship with the other woman so you wouldn’t think he was giving up a love life for you. He loves you so much, you know.” I say.
Jen sighs. “For a smart guy, he can be a total doofus sometimes.”
I grin. “What do you mean?”
“I mean yeah, it’s weird thinking about him marrying some lady. It’s like I’d just wake up one day and have to call some stranger mom, and I… I don’t even remember my real mom. It doesn’t seem fair to her.” Jen sniffs and then laughs at herself. “It sounds dumb when I say it out loud.”
“Honey, no. It doesn’t sound dumb at all. But if your father and I ever ended up together like that, you could call me whatever you want.”
“Could I call you ‘Slick’?”
“Okay, not whatever you want. But you wouldn’t have to call me mom. I may be getting ahead of myself to say it, but as much as I’d love to be that person in your life, I would completely understand if you weren’t comfortable.”
Jen looks thoughtful. “Maybe if I called you ‘mum’ like British people do, it wouldn’t hurt my mom’s feelings.”
I laugh. “I wouldn’t mind that.”
“Deal,” says Jen.
19
Dean
I wake in a hospital bed to the sound of beeping machinery. It’s the hospital bed in my mansion, I realize, glancing out the window and seeing the gardens in the back of the grounds lit by moonlight. I blink away the blurriness in my eyes and see Camille and Jen sleeping side-by-side on the couch. Jen’s head is leaning on Camille’s shoulder and Camille’s head is leaned over Jen’s. I grin to see it. It can’t be coincidence that the first woman Jen has ever seemed to approve of feels so special to me. I refuse to believe it.
Jen. She’s here. I let my head fall
back onto the pillow with relief, and say the first prayer of thanks I’ve said in probably a decade. It’s not eloquent, but it’ll have to do, and I’ll just hope the big guy forgives me. Thank you for bringing my little girl back. Thank you so fucking much. Ah--I mean, freaking much. Um, amen.
I struggle to remember how we got Jen back, but everything leading up to the gunshot is still fuzzy. It all comes back in bits and pieces. I hear the sounds of gunfire first and smell the smoke. I remember the way Camille looked up at me when she thought I might be running off to my death. There was love there, real love, not the kind shit women like to hear themselves say after they’ve been in a relationship a few months. It’s not just an empty word here. I know that now.
And fuck… She saved me, didn’t she? I remember seeing her standing there with the tire iron, face a picture of surprise after she hit the guy who had me wrapped up and let me get free.
And I remember the muzzle flash. The brief explosion of fire from the point of the pistol in Sean’s hand and the thudding impact in my chest. I look down now and see a square of gauze stained through with red over the spot.
But Jen is back. It was all worth it. I don’t know what the cost was or what still lies ahead of us, but having my little girl back and having Camille safe makes it worth whatever price we paid.
Aside from a dull ache, there is hardly any pain. Maybe they have me drugged up, but if they do it can’t be very strong, because my mind feels clear.
I notice the nurse next. She’s a matronly woman with stern features. She looks over her shoulder and sees I’m awake.
“Don’t try to sit up,” she says quietly, probably trying not to wake Jen and Camille. “You’re recovering well, but you need to stay in bed for at least a few more days while the stitches are fresh.”
“How long was I out?” I ask.
Single Dad's Hostage: A Fake Marriage Romance Page 14