by Evelyn Glass
Even if we made it out of here, this would be imprinted on her memory, an ugly, disturbing outing that would color how she lived the rest of her life. And that made me angry—angrier than I’d been since I walked in that door. I looked at Mona, and back to Ella—and knew that I couldn’t wait a moment longer. I took a deep breath, clenched my fists, and just as I was about to lunge forward and do what I could to take Ian down, a voice came from behind me. A voice that made me freeze up at once.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Ian…” The voice was clear and soft, despite the circumstances. We all turned, and found Mary on her feet—she was pacing towards us, her hands outstretched, as though she was trying to calm the situation.
“What the fuck do you want?” Ian spat.
“You don’t have to do this.” She continued to move towards him—he swung the gun in her direction, and she came to a stop, her hands still reaching out for him. Ian’s hands began to shake, and I glanced over at Jazz—what the fuck was going on?
“She’s so loved with Jazz and Mona,” Mary continued. “They’re her family, Ian. You’ve got your own—”
“Not anymore,” he snarled back.
“And you can’t replace the people you lost,” she implored him. Suddenly, Paul got to his feet and positioned himself behind his wife.
“She’s right,” he agreed, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It won’t feel the same, Ian. You need to mourn your family properly. Ella can’t replace everything you lost.”
“You need to let Ella go.” Scott didn’t stand up, hiding in the booth for safety—but he joined in, speaking slowly and carefully as though worried one wrong word would cause the gun to get pointed at him. “She’s no good to you. You’ve created an image of her that doesn’t exist, and certainly won’t if you take her from her family.”
“But—” Ian seemed to be trying to bargain with himself as much as everyone else in the room. I was just glad that his attention seemed less focused on me—staring down the barrel of that gun had been the scariest thing to happen to me yet, and I didn’t want it to get any more frightening.
“I know she seemed perfect to you but that’s only because she was with the people who loved her.” Lucy joined in, glancing over at me and giving me a tiny smile. I hadn’t seen it myself, but I could almost guarantee that she had been the first on her feet when Ian burst in here in the first place.
“If you take her away from that, she’s going to change, Ian, and you won’t like the person she changes into,” Lucy continued. “You need to listen to us. You don’t want this. Besides, even if you do keep her—what, are you just going to spend your whole life on the run from the law?”
“Or from us?” Declan interjected, cracking his knuckles.
“If you don’t give her back now, you’re never going to be able to live a proper life again,” Lucy warned. “And you don’t want that for your little sister, do you?”
Ian stared at her, and then glanced around the room at everyone else. Something seemed to be clicking in his head—what it was, I couldn’t be certain, but some pieces appeared to be falling into place in a way that Jazz and I hadn’t been able to make happen alone. I dreaded to think what would have occurred if he had tried this when it was just the two of us—he’d have likely already gunned us both down by now and taken off.
Here, we had witnesses and endorsements. They were right, too. Ella would never fulfil the perfect little-sister role for Ian because she wasn’t his sister—she was Jazz’s daughter, my baby’s sibling. She had a family that she would never be able to shake the memories off, and that would fuck things up worse than Ian could possibly imagine.
I could already see the trauma in her eyes even as she stood there now—that glassy, glazed look as her brain tried to process all that was going on. It broke my heart to see it, but there was nothing I could do to help now. There was nothing I could do until I got her back home and could start going through the arduous process of putting her back together after everything that had happened. And there would be no way to do that if Ian didn’t hand her over in the first place.
For the first time since we’d laid eyes on him, I saw Ian’s conviction waver. It wasn’t a lot—just a little flicker of doubt, the first hint that he was finally considering that he might have been doing something wrong. But it was enough, enough for us to pounce on.
“Ian, you can still fix this,” I murmured, hoping my soft voice would soothe him into forgetting everything he had been so stuck on for the last few months. “Just hand her over. We’ll take her home, and we’ll make like none of this ever happened. Okay?”
I knew it was bullshit—that whether Jazz got him through the courts or through the Marauders, Ian wouldn’t walk away from all of this unscathed, no chance in hell. But right then, all I gave a shit about was getting Ella back—getting her away from that psychopath. And then we could think about what we were going to do next.
Ian nodded—it took me a second to realize that was what he was doing, but there was no doubt about it. It started slow, then seemed to pick up the pace as he realized what we were saying was true. He leaned down, close enough to Ella that she flinched away from him, and whispered in her ear. It was quiet, but I could just about make out what he was saying to her.
“Go to your daddy.”
That was all the permission Ella needed—she broke away from Ian at once and scurried across the floor towards Jazz. He immediately got down on his knees and opened his arms up wide, collecting her in an enormous hug. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, as though reminding himself of her; a grin broke over his face, and I couldn’t help but reflect it. He was just so fucking happy—I had never seen that kind of joy written on a person’s face before, and it was a pleasure to behold. I glanced over my shoulder at Lucy, who gave me a quick thumbs-up—but before we had a chance to enjoy the moment, I felt a rough hand on my shoulder, jerking me back.
We should have known it wouldn’t be as easy as that. Of course it wouldn’t—we were talking about a man who had led us on what felt like an endless wild goose chase, dragging us down dead ends and into nightmares that I thought only existed in bad police procedurals. We couldn’t talk him out of anything, and we were stupid to think that we could. I mean, here was a guy who thought the world had done him wrong in ways that no one else could understand. And he would have his pound of flesh as retribution, no matter what the cost. No matter where it came from.
Ian locked an arm around my neck and dragged me backwards—I scratched at him desperately, but he wasn’t going anywhere. He was stronger than he looked, or maybe that was just adrenaline giving him the run of the situation. I felt the cold, hard muzzle of the gun nudge against my ribs, and I instantly stopped struggling. Where he had it pointed, it wouldn’t be far from the baby. Something about the proximity made it seem far more real—feeling the cool metal through my shirt reminded me what this thing could do if it went off, the havoc it would wreak if I let it.
I caught sight of Addison as Ian dragged me into position, and gave him an imploring look—this was his brother right? If anyone could understand what he had been through, it would be him. And yet Addison turned his head and refused to meet my gaze. I wasn’t sure whether he was as scared as I was, or hoping I wouldn’t see the guilt written on his face.
“Ian, what the fuck are you doing?” Jazz demanded, leaping to his feet. He shooed Ella over to the booth, where Lucy caught her and pulled her close to keep her safe.
“Well, I need someone.” Ian shrugged. I could hear a mania to his voice that hadn’t been there before, as though his plan had gone off the rails and now he had to do what he could to get what he wanted.
“What do you mean? What for?” Jazz demanded. His eyes slid over to me, and he met my gaze with a mixture of anger, pain, and apology. He should have seen this coming—I knew that’s what he was thinking. We all were.
“If I don’t get her, I get Mona,” Ian replied, my name sounding ugly on his lips. He p
ushed the gun further into my ribcage, making me flinch. My panic had reached such intense levels that it had almost dropped away to nothing—a background buzz, my head levelling out as adrenalin coursed through my system. I knew that if I made one wrong move, both I and the baby were dead meat. I was almost at a Zen level of panic, a strange feeling of elation that I had no idea what to do with. I stared up at the ceiling and did my best to tell myself that this was going to be okay—that despite all the odds, I would make it out of here alive. I had no idea how, but I had to keep repeating it to myself no matter what.
“What are you going to do with her?” Jazz demanded.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Ian replied. He obviously liked being in control of the room, having everyone watching him to see what he was going to do next. Was this the only kind of attention he got? Talk about acting out.
“Please, just let her go,” Lucy begged. She still had Ella in her arms, and seeing the two of them together made my heart ache—this wasn’t how I wanted them to meet, not like this. I wanted it to be a joyous occasion, one where Lucy was welcomed as part of the family at last—yet here we were, fighting just to stay alive.
“Who asked you, bitch?” Ian spat in her direction, making Lucy flinch. I could feel his hot breath on my skin—it reminded me of that morning, when Jazz and I had been hooking up, and thoroughly sullied the memory.
“Just let her go,” Jazz intoned—and something in his voice had changed. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but some of the desperation had seeped away, apparently replaced with something a whole lot more…dangerous. I had never heard this side of him before, despite how bad things had gotten up till now—I had never seen the Jazz who dominated the Marauders, never seen the man who scared the shit out of people. But there and then, it suddenly became clear to me what was about to go down.
Ian seemed to notice the change of tone too—he looked up, taking his eyes off me and staring off at Ian again.
“Why the fuck would I do that?” he demanded. His voice was wavering slightly; I could hear the doubt again, the little hint that he was wondering if he hadn’t made a huge mistake. Jazz took a step towards him—he wasn’t far away, and even one pace made the situation seem suddenly under his control. Jazz tucked his hand into his pocket and grabbed something—I had no idea what it was, but Ian seemed to notice the movement, too.
“What the hell is that?” he demanded, nodding towards Jazz’s clenched fingers, hidden in the pocket of his jeans. “What do you have in there?”
“Let her go.” Jazz continued making his way towards us, moving slowly as though he was intent on giving Ian plenty of time to make his mind up and do the right thing. The way he was moving—even I found myself a little scared; I knew he wouldn’t do anything to put me or the baby in danger, but the way his eyes had locked on to Ian—he looked like the Terminator or some shit. But seeing him move towards me like that—with such purpose, with the belief that he was going to get this right—I managed to exhale, to bring my panic down a few notches. I just had to trust him. Hadn’t that been what this was about, from the start? I just had to trust Jazz. It had never been anything else. And I did trust him, completely—even as he advanced on me with a look on his face that would have turned anyone else to stone where they stood.
“Or what?” Ian demanded. I stared at the hand Jazz had in his pocket, and wondered what in the name of all things good and pure he had in there. I mean, I hadn’t noticed him picking up any weapons when we left to come here. But of course he would have bought something along. He knew a meeting with Ian was on the cards. And he wasn’t the kind of man who took chances—not when it came to his child. His children.
“One more chance, Ian,” he replied, almost kindly. He was relaxed, in control—and I wondered what he had up his sleeve. Suddenly, Ian jerked the gun up so that it faced Jazz. Jazz didn’t even flinch. Ian was panicking—his breath was coming faster and he had loosened his grip on me slightly. I wanted to pull away, but I knew I had to trust Jazz—his eyes met mine and he nodded slightly, just enough so I could see the movement. He was in control. I just needed to let him do his thing. I smiled softly at him, letting him know that I was ready when he was. He gave Ian one more second—and then, finally, he struck.
When it happened, it happened so quickly that I had no idea what was going on. First, Jazz removed his hand from his pocket—there was a flash of metal as he hurled something in the direction of Ian. Ian released me at once, and dove out of the way. I sprinted to the other side of the diner, to where Lucy and Ella were cowering, and grabbed them both and held them tight. But before I could relax, the sound of a gunshot shook through the room. I squeezed my eyes shut, kept my head down, and prayed to God that this would be the end of it.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The sound of the shot rattled off and around the room in a heartbeat—I was instantly taken back to that day in Addison’s house when we’d first encountered Ian again, when Mona and I had to make a break for it out of the window. But this time, there was nowhere to hide—I couldn’t see who he had hit, but he’d fired in the direction of the booth.
I tackled him to the ground, both of us landing with a heavy thump on the tiles. Ian’s head snapped back and he cracked it on the counter behind him, sending a dull, sickening thud across the room; I took his moment of disorientation and used it to my advantage, clambering on top of him and pinning his arms down firmly. But he was stronger than he looked, his arms skinny and lean, and he quickly twisted his wrists around and pulled them out of my grasp. I grunted with annoyance and went to catch him again, but he was wriggling away from me, sliding his body out from beneath me before I had a chance to figure out what was happening.
My knuckledusters lay on the floor not far from his head; I had thrown them at him to cause a distraction, but as his eyes landed on them, a cold rush of panic passed over me. Shit. If he figured out what those were…
I scrambled forward to grab them, but he got his hands on them first; he clutched them to his chest, and it was clear from the expression on his face that he didn’t actually know what to do with them, but he knew that they were important.
“What the fuck are these?” he snarled. I shook my head, refusing to answer, as he crawled towards me—he looked like some kind of animal, down on all fours like that, scrambling back to his feet as best he could. There was blood dribbling down the side of his head but he seemed oblivious to it. I stared up at him, and wondered how I ever could have lived next door to this guy; there was a monstrousness to him that I realized now had always been there, but that I had been too kind to name.
It was easier to pretend that he was normal and everything was okay than it was to suspect that he was capable of something like this. He got to his feet, and I did the same, and he slapped the dusters into his hand a couple of times as if testing them out. My eye was drawn to the gun, which had clattered down to the other end of the counter; it glinted uselessly in the light. There was no way I could get around him without him using those dusters on me—and I knew from experience that those things could do some serious damage.
I paced back a few steps, retracing the path I’d taken towards him—except this time, he was the one in control. I glanced over my shoulder; Ella was cowering between Mona and Lucy, but she was safe. She was alive. If something happened to me now, well, that wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world. At least she would be out of here and have someone around to look after her. That was a relief, something I could take some joy in as Ian advanced on me. He seemed to have forgotten the gun, but there was a wild look in his eyes that told me he could probably do just as much damage with his fists in the mood he was in.
“Why do you deserve all of this?” he snarled, his lip curling up to show off his teeth—as though he was a dog about to pounce on me where I stood. “How is that fair?”
“Fair isn’t how this work, Ian.” I held my hands up, trying to calm him down. “I just did my best with what I had.”
&nb
sp; “I’ve seen the kind of man you are,” he snapped, cracked the brass dusters into his hand to punctuate his sentence. “You don’t deserve any of this. Any of this.”
“Ian,” I said his name again, hoping that I could snap him out of his little reverie if I tried hard enough. But he had had enough; there was nothing else I could do. He came to a standstill and, for a moment, everything stood stock still—my breath came to a stop in my chest, my heart apparently running out of steam where I stood. Ian didn’t blink, meeting my gaze coolly and calmly as though this was what he’d been waiting for all along.
And then, he lunged towards me—he spun the knuckles at me hard, hard enough that despite his lack of finesse they cracked me painfully across the jaw. I stumbled back, clutching my face, and tried to put some space between us, but he wasn’t having any of it. He went for me again, bringing the metal down on the back of my head—I heard Mona gasp from behind me, and I prayed that she was hiding Ella from all of this. I didn’t want this to be the last thing she remembered of her father.
Before Ian could bring the dusters down again, I glimpsed a little movement behind him—Addison. I had almost completely forgotten about him in the melee, but there he was. He had been frozen to the spot until now, but he seemed to have found his feet. He was reaching for the gun—I ducked Ian’s next blow deftly, managing to catch his wrists in my hands and hold them above my head—I could feel my jaw throbbing, already wet with a spot of blood. Ian gritted his teeth and tried to wrench himself free of my grasp, but I held firm. Not this time.