I glance up, finding Mr. Chapman standing beside me and I blush, cutting him an embarrassed look. “I think I made too many salads,” I mutter. “Everyone needs to eat more salad.”
It may be possible that I haven’t quite gotten over the whole starving homeless thing.
When we first met, Mr. Chapman refused to let me cook because I would make enough food for an army and we could never eat it all before it would go bad. He used to threaten to lock up the food and only give me enough to last me the day.
His eyes flash with amusement as they scan me over, and I stall for a moment, taking them in. I never noticed before how similar his eyes are to Jason’s, the way, even straight-faced, you can see the humor dancing within them. “Not sure that’s gonna help, baby girl.”
Looking over the table again, I can see he’s right. There’s so much salad that we’d all have to eat at least five platefuls, and still, there would most likely be leftovers.
I glance around the yard. It’s getting dark. Music plays softly, country, I think. Everyone seems to be having a good time, relaxing, chatting.
It’s exactly what they needed.
I spot Jason standing by the grill. He’s talking with Cruz, drinking beer. I haven’t spoken to him since he asked me to stay. He hasn’t given me the chance.
He’s in full on avoidance mode.
It sucks.
He looks so good tonight, dressed in jeans and a light gray polo shirt. It’s snug across his chest and hugs his biceps. He has a ball cap on, blue, I think.
His eyes drift my way. He always seems to know when I’m looking at him. He stares at me, his gaze trailing along my entire frame, before shifting back to Cruz.
“Gotta say this, baby girl,” Mr. Chapman says, his voice low and gruff. “I want you to really listen to me, yeah?”
Pulling my gaze away from Jason, I glance at him. “Okay.”
“Don’t think you should be going back to New York,” he says casually. “Think you should stick around here.”
I don’t know what I expected, but this was not it. I furrow my brow, surprised. “I—”
“Not done yet,” he says, stopping me right away. “Haven’t seen you this happy before and you make my boy happy. I like that look on both of you. I like it a lot. You wanna go visit your parents, go visit, but I’m pretty sure you know that this is where your home is at now.”
I don’t know what to say. Truth is, I’ve been thinking close to the same things.
“Has he talked to you yet?” I ask, attempting to shift the subject.
He sees right through me.
“Don’t try and weasel your way out of this,” he says. “You know I’m right.”
I nod, hesitate, and then whisper, “He asked me to stay.”
He stares at me for a moment, taking in my panicked expression, and then laughs. “Knew he would, baby girl.”
“I didn’t say yes,” I inform him.
He stops laughing and stares at me.
“I froze.”
He continues to stare.
“He’s been avoiding me since it happened. He thinks I don’t want to stay, but I do. I’m … I …”
Ugh. I’m stammering. I’m shaking. My chest aches. I’m an overall mess, and I can’t see a way to fix it. He won’t even talk to me.
Mr. Chapman grasps my shoulder and looks down at me. “Spit it out, Elena.”
“I think I love him,” I blurt frantically.
“Calm down, baby girl,” he says. “This is a good thing. You should be happy. He’s a good man, and he’ll treat you right.”
I know. I want to shout it. This is a great thing. Amazing. And Jason’s … the best. Better than the best.
“Richard,” Mona calls, and walks over to us. “Stop upsetting the girl.”
“He’s not,” I say quickly. “I’m good.”
She doesn’t believe me.
Good God, the look she’s giving me … she’s just as intuitive as her son.
Mr. Chapman chuckles. “She’s in love with Jase.”
Mona looks at me, a soft smile on her lips. “Of course she is. I spotted that the first time I saw them together at my shop. Why in the world is that upsetting you, honey?”
I’m surprised at the ease and confidence in which she says it. I’m not sure how to respond, and I whisper, “Because he wants me to stay.”
She blinks at me, confused. “And?”
And …? I don’t know. This whole thing is ridiculous. I should just march right up to him and tell him how I feel.
I should.
And I will.
Just maybe after everyone leaves.
Yes. Tonight when we crawl into bed, I’ll tell him.
I smile. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”
Mona doesn’t answer, but she does take my hand and squeezes it, before pulling away and taking a long sip from her beer.
Mr. Chapman starts rambling. I take a bite of food, looking around the yard. As I glance around, my eyes catch onto something. A movement by the gate. A shadow. I lower my burger back to the paper plate in my hand and I stare, squinting my eyes in the darkness.
It’s Peck.
Peck is slipping through the side gate!
No one seems to notice him.
He looks right at me. His arm raising up in front of him and for a second, it looks as though he’s pointing at me, beckoning me.
Something strange and unpleasant crawls along my skin. My brain focuses, my gaze zeros in.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
I blink and blink again.
He’s not calling me over.
No.
He isn’t …
He wouldn’t …
He doesn’t have a …
But yes, yes he does.
Peck’s holding a gun and he’s pointing it right at me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jason
Gun.
The single word forms on Elena’s lips, but she doesn’t make a sound. Her eyes are wide, fear filled, and even from my place across the yard, I can see her body tremble.
Instinctively, my hand reaches for the butt of my gun at my hip. She glances my way, just a brief flick of her eyes and she mouths the word again.
I have no idea what’s gotten her so freaked out. I usually don’t carry it around the house, but since Peck showed up in town, I’ve had it with me.
She knows that.
She never seemed bothered by it before.
I start toward her, making it one step, two, three, before I watch as Elena shoves my mother hard, knocking her to the ground. My old man grabs Elena, shoving her behind him as he pulls a gun from his back and trains it toward the side of the house.
“No,” Elena shouts, struggling and pushing to get past my old man. “Get away from me.”
What the fuck?
Adrenaline hits me hard and fast. It rushes through my system and a chill sweeps over me. My heart skips a beat before it picks up speed, hammering in my chest, and I pull my gun from my hip holster. I don’t think about it. I don’t hesitate. I grip my gun, my finger hovers over the trigger, and I pivot, searching the place my old man is aiming.
“Put it down,” my old man growls. “Put the fucking gun down.”
It only takes seconds for my eyes to find who he’s speaking to. Peck. He’s standing under a light by the gate to my backyard. He holds a gun, gripping it tightly with his finger on the trigger.
Fucking suicidal idiot.
“Fuck you,” Peck says, his aim staying steady.
I aim my weapon, pointing the muzzle of my gun right at his head.
The yard turns silent. It’s as though everyone stops moving, stops breathing even. From the corner of my eye, I see both Wes and Vance draw their weapons and take aim. Wes moves in front of Cruz’s wife; Vance moves to my mother.
Cruz is … I don’t know where the fuck Cruz is. He was beside me a minute ago …
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I
take a step toward Peck.
He doesn’t notice, or if he does, it doesn’t faze him.
“I’m surprised you’re here,” I say calmly, taking another step in his direction, hoping to draw his attention away from my woman. “Figured you crawled into a hole somewhere.”
He stares at Elena, watching her as she struggles to get past my old man, unfazed by the gun I have pointed at his head. I don’t even think he sees it.
“Came for my fiancée,” Peck says. “Hand her over and I’ll go.”
“I’m not your fiancée,” Elena shrieks, frantic. “I never was. I never will be.”
My stomach clenches and my lungs squeeze. My eyes dart to her, only a quick glance, before bouncing back to Peck. She’s pale. She’s panicking. But she also looks as though she’s ready to charge him and rip him apart.
Peck’s hand is steady; his gaze is hard.
He’s going to shoot, I think.
This isn’t an empty threat. Anger, hatred, desperation … he’s soaked with the emotions, seeping from his sweaty pores.
He means to kill her. He means to take her and kill her.
I can see it. I can feel it.
And I’m not going to let that happen.
I’m not letting her go.
Elena screams in frustration. “Get the hell out of my way, Richard!”
My muscles tighten at the sound of her voice. So do Peck’s. His body seems to snap straighter, his jaw clenches, and his grip on the gun tightens.
“Elena,” I bark, my tone sharp. “Stop.”
She makes a sound, somewhere between a growl and a whimper. Another quick look in her direction, though, shows me she’s frozen solid, shooting daggers at me.
Whatever. Better her mad than dead.
“You’re not getting near my woman,” I tell Peck. “Put the gun down.”
He laughs. His eyes dart between Elena and me, and a second later his aim shifts slightly and he squeezes the trigger.
Elena
A gunshot goes off, loud in my ears. Mr. Chapman shouts out and his leg buckles. He weaves on his feet, crumples to the ground.
My world stops.
It stops moving, stops spinning.
No. Oh my God, no. No, no, no.
He shot him. Peck shot him.
Someone screams.
Others shout out orders.
“Get over here, El,” Peck says, his voice calm, controlled. His gun moves, his aim going to Jason. “Or your fuck buddy is next.”
This isn’t happening.
This isn’t happening.
I put my hands up. Someone’s going to die. I can feel it in my gut, in my toes, my fingertips. Someone I care about is going to die.
I have to do something.
I go to move and Jason’s gaze hits mine instantly.
“Stay where you are, darlin’,” Jason orders, his voice like whiplash. “Get down; put pressure on Dad’s leg.”
I freeze.
My gaze swivels between the two of them, and without hesitation I drop to my knees, putting pressure on Mr. Chapman’s bleeding leg.
He hisses as I do, but he raises his gun and aims it back at Peck.
“Why are you doing this?” I shriek. “Why?”
Peck doesn’t answer. Not that I really thought he would. He does look at me though, and what I see there, confuses me.
There’s fear.
There’s affection.
There’s hatred.
How can one person show so many conflicting emotions at once?
“Drop the gun or I’ll shoot,” Jason says, taking another step, this time to the left, getting in front of me.
“Baby, come here,” Peck murmurs, ignoring Jason, his voice shaking ever so slightly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
I blink at him, pressing on Mr. Chapman’s leg a little harder. He grunts. I can feel his warm blood coating my hands.
My stomach turns.
My chest tightens.
And then I lose my temper.
“Hurt me?” I snap loudly, my voice bordering on hysterical. “All you ever did was hurt me. You’re hurting me right now. You just shot Mr. Chapman!”
Peck jerks back a step and his eyes widen with surprise.
I’ve never raised my voice to him before.
I’ve never had the guts.
He shakes it off quickly, his expression changing from shock to regret in a blink. “It’ll be different this time. I swear it, El. Come here, baby.”
“Stay where you are, Elena,” Vance says. My gaze snaps to him. He’s behind me and a little to the right, standing in front of Mona, who’s still on the ground, keeping still and silent. He has a gun, too, leveled on Peck. “Drop the fuckin’ gun.”
“I’m not fucking around here, El,” Peck says. “I’ll shoot him and it won’t be in the leg.”
“Don’t fuckin’ move, Elena,” Jason growls, moving forward closer to Peck.
Everything is happening so fast. Everyone’s shouting, giving me orders. I don’t move, though, keeping the pressure on Mr. Chapman’s wound.
Jason takes another step.
“Don’t come any closer,” Peck yells. “I’ll shoot if you take another step.”
He’s breathing heavily, quickly. I can hear the pants, see his chest rise and fall, quicker and quicker.
My eyes immediately go back to Jason. His face is hard, his focus steady. He’s not panicking. He doesn’t look fazed by the gun pointed at his head.
It rattles me.
Seeing him so calm scares the hell out of me.
“Lawrence, please don’t,” I beg, my voice hitching on the words. “Please. You don’t have to do this.”
Peck looks at me, his face twisting with anger. “You’re my fucking fiancée. You’re mine. I only want what’s mine and we’ll go. No one has to get hurt here.”
Jason laughs, a humorless and unnaturally sharp sound. “You shot my father. You pointed a gun at my woman. You have a gun pointed at me. You ain’t fuckin’ going nowhere but jail.”
“I just want my fiancée back,” Peck yells. “I bought her. She’s fucking mine.”
Bought me?
Bought me?
Oh my God.
What does that even mean?
“Bought me?” I ask, my voice louder than I meant it.
“Doesn’t matter, baby,” Peck says. “Not anymore. I love you. That’s all that matters, and as soon as you tell my captain that your complaint was bullshit, we can move on. It’ll be better. You’ll see.”
“Bought me?” I ask again. I should probably feel fear, but I don’t. I don’t feel anything. Not even the blood on my hands or the breeze in the air.
Peck raises a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose, keeping his aim with his other hand. “Forget it,” he says, his voice steady, even though he looks as though he’s ready to lose it. “Come here, baby. Let’s go home.”
I barely even hear him. Anger. Blinding, white-hot anger courses through me.
All I see is red.
I shift my body, facing Peck fully and scream, “Bought me!”
“Elena, stay where you are!” It’s Wes this time, ordering me, but I don’t look at him. I keep my glare fixed on Peck.
He hesitates. Hesitates. He’s looking at me as though he can’t believe I even have the gall to question him. It lasts a moment. A long, eternal moment, before he mutters, “Your brother sold you to me for a clean slate and a get out of jail free card for as long as I’m on the force.”
For the second time tonight, my world stops.
I don’t even breathe.
I stare at him, blankly, my chest aching, and my body turns numb.
I can’t process this.
I don’t notice Cruz moving in behind Peck until he says, “Drop the gun. You’re under arrest.”
Peck spins around, waving his gun wildly. He pulls the trigger, and two separate gunshots ring out, one after another.
Jason
I’m a killer.
/> I should feel something. I should be unsettled, or angry, or sick, or something. Anything. But I don’t. I feel nothing.
I killed Peck.
Shot him in the head.
I’ve had to shoot people before. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve used my weapon, but I’ve never killed anyone until now.
Non-fatal shots.
Wounds don’t kill.
Elena is huddled in my arms. She isn’t talking. She isn’t crying. She isn’t … anything. She just clutches onto me, holding me, stroking her fingers through my hair, down my back.
I think she’s trying to give me comfort.
I find that almost … amusing. My scared, timid girl is trying to comfort me.
We’re standing by the grill, with Wes and Vance, watching as Cruz directs traffic as people arrive at the scene. They’re oddly quiet, too.
The yard is swarming with officers and paramedics. I don’t know when they arrived or how long they’ve been here. Statements are being taken. My yard is being secured with police tape.
It’s chaos.
Controlled chaos.
Peck is on the ground, covered with a sheet. I’m told I won’t be charged with anything. It was self-defense. I was protecting my property and the people on it.
I think my case was helped by the fact that Cruz took a hit. Nothing severe, just a graze on his right shoulder when Peck spun on him and pulled the trigger. The cops aren’t too keen on charging a man that saved one of their own.
My old man is being loaded up in an ambulance. My mother is holding his hand, climbing in with him.
My old man took a bullet for my woman.
I don’t even know what to think about that.
I’m grateful. So goddamn grateful.
I glance down at Elena. She’s staring up at me, her gaze, troubled. “Cruz needs stitches,” she says. “Shouldn’t he be getting treated or something?”
Yeah, he probably should be, but he won’t. He right out refused treatment, saying he needed to be here until the scene was dealt with.
“He’s fine, darlin’,” I reassure her, placing a kiss on her forehead. “His shirt took more damage than he did.”
“What about you?” she whispers. “Are you okay?”
I smile down at her. It’s weak, I know, but I try. “Yeah, darlin’, I’m good. It’s over. He’s gone.”