Chapter 24
Chase
“Lauren!”
I turn to Lauren in the passenger seat, brushing strands of hair away from her face that’s pressed against the dashboard.
No blood. Thank god.
I press my fingers against her neck – her pulse is weak, but it’s there.
She’s unconscious. Probably, she’s suffered a concussion.
That’s good.
But this whole thing isn’t.
The gate still stands tall and proud in front of me. The cruiser barely made a dent. Instead, it’s the front of the cruiser that’s wrecked, Steve’s body over what’s left of the hood and the rest of him trapped in between the wreckage and the gate.
“Fuck!”
I hit the steering wheel with both hands only to wince as pain spreads through my left shoulder.
I examine it. Blood leaks from the cut where Steve’s bullet grazed my skin.
I’ve been through worse.
I get out of the car, placing a hand over my eyes as I look at the top of the gate. If I was alone or if Lauren wasn’t unconscious, we could have scaled it. But there’s no hope for that now.
I have to get Lauren, go out the back gate and run on foot – a grim prospect but it’s all I can think of.
I circle the car to get to the door of the passenger seat, pausing by the trunk. The force of the collision has caused it to pop open and inside, I glimpse a body, a red stain on the front of his black uniform.
Fuck.
I knew it. I knew something bad happened to the owner of this car.
Another innocent life caught up in this twisted game.
These murders, this madness has to stop. And only I can stop it.
I get Lauren out of the car, hold her body in my arms, run to the house, but stop.
My uncle steps out onto the porch.
He’s alone. He’s still clutching his stomach, limping slightly. He’s sweaty and shaking. Even so, the hard gleam in his eyes tells me he’s not willing to give up.
It isn’t over yet.
I place Lauren on the grass by some bushes, planting a kiss on her hair. Then I go to face my uncle, hand on my bleeding shoulder.
“You don’t give up, do you?” I walk toward him.
He chuckles. “Of course. You and I are alike after all.”
“We’re not. And you’ve lost.”
His thick eyebrows go up. “Have I?”
I gesture toward him. “Look at you. You’ve been poisoned.”
He gives another chuckle. “Your girlfriend is clever. I’ll give her that. But she hasn’t defeated me.”
Unbelievable.
“You’re sick,” I point out.
“And you’re wounded,” he points out, in turn, grinning.
As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. My shoulder is bleeding and I still have the cut above my eye and on my lip, not to mention the fact that my broken rib hasn’t healed completely yet.
“What do you propose?” I ask him.
He raises his hands, rolling them into fists. “Let’s finish this the old-fashioned way.”
“Old-fashioned, huh?” I clench my hands into fists as well. “Suits you.”
Terrence lunges at me first, going for my jaw. I duck and punch him in the stomach.
He coughs, clutching it again as his features twist.
“Sure you want to do this?” I ask him.
He lunges again and while I evade his first punch, the second hits my rib, and pain shoots across my side. The third hits my jaw.
I step back as I wipe off the fresh blood from the reopened wound on my lip.
Terrence snickers. “Have you forgotten, boy? I was the one who taught you how to fight.”
I remember. He even took me to a boxing gym once and bought me my first pair of gloves.
“I taught you everything you know.”
“Fuck off, old man.” I go for his jaw, but miss.
He kicks me in the stomach, pushes me back.
I cough.
“What’s the matter, boy?” Terrence taunts. “Has life on the farm made you weak?”
“What about you? Has having goons made you weak?” I try to provoke him into throwing the first punch. “Do you need them to do everything for you now? Maybe soon, they’ll be changing your diapers, too.”
It works. He throws the first punch and this time, I grab his arm, twisting it and then hooking it around my neck so I can throw his body on the ground. His bones crack, his scream pierces the air.
I’ve won. I kneel by his side. “You didn’t teach me everything.”
He opens his eyes. A glimmer of remorse, of affection, flashes across his expression, but disappears, eclipsed by wicked amusement.
His lips curl into a sick smile.
He slips a steak knife from his sleeve and thrusts it at me. I jump back at the last second but the tip of the blade slices my chest.
I take the weapon from him, and he lets out another rumble of twisted laughter.
I’m tempted to push the blade through his heart.
He deserves to die.
I grip the handle and lift the knife, anger clouding my vision and my thoughts.
A voice pierces that dark cloud.
“Chase!”
At the sound of Lauren’s voice, my mind clears. I throw away the knife, punching my uncle instead to knock him unconscious.
Lauren stumbles toward me, wrapping her arms around me.
I hug her in turn then pull away so I can get a good look at her.
“Are you all right?”
She nods. “Still a little dizzy but I’m fine. How about…?”
She pauses, gasping as she sees the fresh wound on my chest.
“You’re…”
“It’s a flesh wound,” I assure her. “Just like the one on my shoulder.”
“Your shoulder?” She lifts my sleeve to look at my wound, frowning. “Wait. You were shot, weren’t you?”
“Like I said, it’s a flesh wound.” I cup her face. “Lauren, I’ll live.”
She stares at me, her amber eyes boring into my blue ones as they fill with tears. Then she smiles and hugs me again, tighter this time.
“Oh, Chase!”
The relief in her voice fills my chest. The whoop of police sirens drives it home.
“We made it,” she says.
“Yes,” I tell her, my own lips curving into a smile. “We did.”
She squeezes me tighter.
“Ouch,” I complain.
She pulls away. “Sorry.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. Just take it easy. You can do whatever you want with me when I’m fully healed.”
Her eyebrows furrow. “Really?”
“I’m all yours, Lauren Calver.”
She blushes, her face lighting up. “And I’m yours, Chester Donahue.”
She kisses my forehead then throws me a puzzled look. “Wait. Does this mean I should call you Chester now?”
I brush a strand of hair out of her face. “You can call me whatever you want.”
“In that case, I’ll call you Chase. My Chase.”
I smile. “I like the sound of that.”