Chapter Fourteen

Michelle

Andrew told me to go, but I couldn’t. My trembling legs staggered down the hallway and into the foyer but then I lingered and glanced over my shoulder. I heard the grunts and slurs of battle still in the bedroom and I knew I couldn’t just leave him. I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced my knocking knees to stabilize. You have been running from pain your entire life. But you can’t run away when Andrew needs your help. He would never run away from you.

I veered into the living room, trying to collect my million scattered little thoughts. I was in crisis and nothing felt right, nothing felt settled, I couldn’t think but I needed to think. Think. Help Andrew. I need to help Andrew. Call 9-1-1 again? Just stand in the yard and scream? Get in his truck and drive to the police station?

That was when my eyes fell across the table on the right side the living room sofa.

There was a black club, a Taser, and a handgun, all laid neatly on the tabletop.

I gulped and reached for the gun. My hands trembled as I removed the safety and cocked the hammer back.

Summer camp for the children of aristocrats is different from the summer camp of the middle class. We didn’t make arts and crafts with macaroni and glitter and we didn’t do relay races. Rich kids learn marksmanship.

I receded into the shadows of the living room until my heels bumped the corner of the den and I froze, trembling, cradling the gun between my hands.

At least there’s this.

Chet came rolling into view, a lamp wrapped around his honest-to-God neck, and I sank down onto my haunches, praying that Andrew would follow him.

Please don’t let me fail Andrew.

Chet rasped about how badly I wanted him, and Andrew kicked him in the chest, sending him hurtling into the living room. I shuddered. He was getting closer. I didn’t know if I could do this. I was dizzy.

Chet spilled into the den and I saw the other items on the coffee table—the Taser and the club, damnit, I hadn’t taken either of them away, hadn’t even thought about it—as they all skittered onto the floor, and Chet scrambled for the Taser.

He came up firing the thing, nose coursing blood like a hideous beast. He told Andrew to leave us alone, to finish what we started, and my insides slushed with ice. I trained the gun and waited. I became still and quiet, listening for my moment, my opportunity to pounce. I became the predator in the room for once.

I will not fail Andrew, I promised myself.

“Michelle is mine,” Andrew replied without an iota of doubt in his voice. “If you touch her, I’ll kill you, even if you—”

And he fired the Taser.

Not one more second lapsed. I squeezed the trigger and absorbed the impact, staggering back into the wall. My aim was impeccable. The force of the shot sent Chet hurtling forward and slamming into the sofa.

Andrew’s eyes rolled back in his head and his entire body was rigid on the carpet. He shuddered and grunted as the electricity overtook him, then went still and loose again.

I went down to my knees beside Andrew and checked his pulse before moving on. I called his name, but he didn’t respond.

Chet was also as still as a corpse, and I wondered if I’d hit him in the shoulder or in the chest.

I lifted the gun away from Chet and stepped cautiously toward him. “Chet?” I whispered meekly, slowly withdrawing back into my little shell. “Chet?” Had I killed him?

Behind me, Andrew coughed and I put the safety on the gun, tucking it beneath the couch to be safe and leaning over him.

His thick lashes slowly twitched apart, revealing dazed gray-green eyes slowly focusing on me.

“Hey,” he breathed.

“Hey,” I whispered back. “Are you okay?”

“Marry me,” Andrew rasped, and I blinked down at him in complete surprise.

“I think you have a concussion. We need to get you to a hospital.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” Andrew swore.

Chet groaned loudly and my heart hammered in my chest. No, no, no, no…

The caterwaul of sirens drew my attention away from him and toward the front door. I saw the spinning lights of red and blue through the windows. They were here. They were finally here. How long had it been?

Deputies burst through the front door and quickly lowered their firearms at the amount of carnage already visible, at the strange hush over the entire house. The foyer had a splintered, bloody lamp and an overturned table. The living room, two unconscious men and me, still wearing nothing but a slip. Chet with a bullet in his—chest? Arm? And the local mechanic with a Taser embedded in his chest…

My eyes were still on Andrew—who had lapsed back into unconsciousness—as one of the deputies attempted to take my attention and get some sort of explanation.

My eyes flicked up to this newcomer and I said, “You guys really need a more sophisticated screening process.”