CHASE

 

The loudness of the gunshot pierces through my ears.

To this day, I still remember the first time I ever heard the sound of gunfire. I was driving down a back road with my father when I was a little boy and someone was shooting a gun close to the road. The loud bang almost gave me a heart attack as I thought my father and I were under fire.

Back in the military, gunfire was a part of everyday life, especially while I was deployed. In my time serving this country on active duty, I had taken a number of lives and had seen tenfold the amount of lives taken.

I’ve seen countless people shot and to this day, it’s just as horrifying a sight as it’s ever been. There is blood stained on the back of Rick’s shirt as Summer holds onto him for dear life, not wanting to let go because maybe she’s afraid if she does, he’ll be gone forever.

I know that feeling too. I’ve been there a hundred different times with a hundred different people. Summer doesn’t have the same instincts that I have. She hasn’t seen what I’ve seen or been through what I’ve been through. She’s too busy trying to process what’s happening and because of that, her mind won’t allow her to react the way she needs to react.

I lunge across the room, fearing more bullets will soon be on their way. Summer stumbles to the floor, her knees buckling out from beneath her. Rick’s body is too limp and too heavy, and they both hit the ground at the same time with his body lying across her lap.

Glass shatters behind me, the sound of continued gunfire clipping past my ears. The three of us are in front of the couch and that buys us a little bit of time. I collect Rick’s body from Summer’s lap and notice that he’s still conscious, so I drag him out of the way and into the nearby closet.

I force him to take a seat under jackets hanging from the rack above. “I’ll be right back.” I close the door and turn back to Summer, sitting wide-eyed in the center of the floor. The bullets have stopped flying, but it’s far from over. As I race across the living room to scoop up Summer, I notice two men approaching the front of the house through the shattered windows.

I drop down onto the floor directly in front of the couch and try to reason with her. “Summer, I need you to listen to me.”

But she doesn’t listen. She just stares blankly ahead at the front door that’s about to be kicked in at any second.

I grab her by the face and force her to look me in the eyes. “Get up, now!”

She nods, her lips flirting with a painful frown. I drag her to her feet just as the front door is kicked open and shuffle her forward towards the dining room.

Gunfire paints holes in the wall as I throw the both of us into the dining room and then immediately left. Summer throws her hands over her head in an unorthodox, but totally understandable, effort to not get shot. Drywall dust filters through the air as a barrage of bullets continue to batter the walls of the living room and dining room.

I push Summer towards the kitchen, but she digs her feet into the floor and turns to me with terror in her eyes. “What about Rick?”

“He’s going to be fine,” I lie right through my teeth. Maybe he will be fine. Maybe he won’t be. I’m hopeful that he’s safe in the closet but my priorities right now are getting Summer out of the house. “Now move.”

She nods and then hesitates for a second more while there’s a reprieve from gunfire. Once it starts up again, chipping away at the paneling just to the left, I push her forward. She climbs to her feet and runs into the long, galley kitchen, heading straight for the door...

That’s kicked open

A tall man dressed in all black with a matching ski mask holds an uzi in his hands, his finger braced against the trigger. I jump into action, giving Summer a hard shove behind me.

The man raises his gun to fire, but he’s not fast enough. I knock the gun out of his hand, sending it flying onto the nearby countertop. He dives sideways in an effort to grab the gun, but I intercept his movement, grabbing him by the throat and tossing him backwards.

His back lands with a crack against the edge of the counter and he lets out a loud grunt. With my hand still around his throat, I pick him up slightly and then slam him back down, resulting in another crack.

Noticing the silence in the other room, I cock my head to the dining room and hear footsteps creaking on the hardwood floors. I spin the man around, holding his back to me, and squeeze at his neck with my forearm. His feet clatter against the floor, shoes tapping against the wood. His nails dig into the flesh of my forearm as he struggles against the deadly grip I have on him.

When I turn back to Summer, standing in the center of the galley, there’s measurable fear in her eyes. I don’t blame her. She’s never seen me like this. Hell, she’s probably never seen anyone like this outside of the movies. I’m sure there’s a feral darkness in my eyes and my blood runs hot as it pumps through my veins. For all intents and purposes, I’m a monster not wanting to give this poor son of a bitch a second chance at life. I want to wring the life out of him, but I don’t.

Because she’s standing right before me, her beautiful eyes pleading with me to spare this man’s life. And that’s just what I do. His fingers continue to dig into my flesh as he gasps for air until he finally goes cold. I drop him against the counter. His body rolls sideways and he lands face down against the hard floors, unconscious.

I reach forward to grab Summer by the wrist and notice a shadowy figure making its way through the living room. “Let’s go.”

She stares me down for a second longer as if she’s debating whether she should stay or go. The answer is an obvious one, but she’s not used to making decisions in these high stress situations, so I make that decision for her. I tug her forward and over the unconscious man’s body. She doesn’t give much fight but inside those precious eyes, I can see the turmoil.

I rip the door open and close it gently behind me, push her forward in the grass and to the back of the white picket fence of her yard. I drop to my knees and make a makeshift ladder with my hands.

“What are you doing?” she questions from above, her breath ragged and harsh.

“Get over that fence and hide somewhere.”

She climbs onto my hand and I give her a boost over the fence, only taking a second-long glance at the way her ass curves in those jeans.

Not the time to be getting distracted, Chase.

She kicks one leg over the fence and then the other, and when she lands on both feet on the other side, she turns back to me. “Hurry up.”

“I’m not going.”

“What?” she cries. “What do you mean?”

I crane my head back to the house to see two men in all black cutting into the kitchen. “I’m going back for Rick.”

“No, no, no…” She shakes her head and swings one hand back over the fence, preparing herself to join me back on this side. “You’re not going back in there alone.”

“I know how to handle myself.”

“I know… but—”

“But nothing!” I retrieve my gun from the holster on my hip and check the clip. “I’ll be back for you. I promise.”

“Wait!”

“What?”

She swallows nervously and rolls her lips over one another. “What if they find me?”

“Just don’t let that happen.” I offer her a final nod before ducking down and running back towards the house.

Knowing the men are inside the kitchen, I maintain a low profile until I’m standing slat against the exterior of the house. I peek around a corner to see a black SUV parked on the curb on the opposite side of the street but see no signs of life from the gunmen. When the coast seems clear, I rush around the side of the house, all the while clinging as close as possible to the plastic siding—cheap ass suburb housing.

I peek around the corner and look into the driveway to see a man with his back to me. He stabs a knife into the white car parked in the driveway—Dom is definitely going to be pissed about this, since he just bought new tires for all the company cars. The tire lets out a snakelike hissing sound as the man moves to the back tire.

I hunch over so that I’m low enough to not be visible from the inside windows and pace lightly on my feet so as to not alert the man to the fact that I’m sneaking up behind him. Just when I’m right behind him, I notice my reflection against the surface of the car.

He notices too. Reaches to his side to grab at the gun holstered at his hip. I lunge forward, tackling him to the ground. He grunts and reaches for his gun, but I’ve already brushed it aside. I point my gun towards his head and grind out, “Freeze or I’ll shoot.”

“Okay, okay, okay…”

I pull him to his feet and push him around to the other side of the car, lean him back against the trunk and rip the black mask off his face. My heart sinks, dropping from somewhere in my chest all the way to my feet. I take a few careful steps backwards and struggle to keep the gun aimed at the boy in front of me.

And he’s just that. A boy. Doesn’t look a day over fifteen with fresh, clear eyes without the wrathful lines of aging. Acne pooled at the crux of his jaw and peach fuzz just above his lips.

I stumble backwards, the gun I’m holding shaking in my palm. “Who sent you?” I question, trying to reaffirm my grip on the gun so that I have leverage over him.

But he’s shaking too with his hands held over his head, his lips trembling too. He moves his mouth to speak. “I’m not supposed to say, but there’s this guy—”

Bang.

A bullet tears through the back of his head, sending a spray of blood into the air and splattered across my face. He stumbles forward, his body going limp, before he crashes hard against the asphalt with a crack.

I’m stunned. Frozen. The gunshot lingers, a sharp pain ringing in my ears. I somehow manage to pull myself together and dive onto the ground, pull myself up real close to the back of the car. My eyes drift back to the dead kid in front of me.

Whoever these men are, they’re ruthless with a complete lack of regard for human life. This boy was one of them, or most likely hired out. He was disposable; he didn’t deserve this. I fight to catch my breath and force myself to look away from him. I can’t afford to be distracted right now, not when my life is on the line as well as the lives of two others.

With my back straight against the back of the car, I peel my eyes around the corner to make sure the coast is clear and make a mad dash to the side of the house.

A barrage of bullets rips past me, stray ammo clipping the car and shattering the windows. I dive to clear the remaining distance between the car and the house. Once I’m out of sight, I roll forward and jump to my feet, cut around the back corner of the house and draw my gun ahead of me just as I rush back inside the back door.

One of the men rushes into the galley kitchen and I don’t even hesitate to pull the trigger. Once. Twice. Three times. Each shot tearing through the assailant’s chest until he’s bleeding out and dropping a gun from his hands.

It clatters against the hard floor just before his body drops.

Taking lives will always weigh heavy on my heart, no matter how much it’s deserved or warranted. These men killed that kid in cold blood because he was about to tell me who had sent them. They wouldn’t hesitate to kill me, Summer, or Rick.

It’s their world and their rules. I’m just living by them. I race across the opening of the kitchen, taking a glance into the dining room. It’s clear so I shuffle against the wall and take a peek inside the living room. There’s a rustling commotion from upstairs. My eyes glean upwards, and as the man steps across the floor I take notice that he’s stepping just above me. I aim my gun upwards, focus my aim and then pull the trigger.

A loud thud against the floor is followed by a painful groan, “Shit!”

I think about pulling the trigger again but decide that it’s more imperative to get answers. Making sure the coast is clear once again, I cut across the living room and race up the steps. A stray bullet whizzes past my head and it’s only with lightning quick reflexes that I’m able to twist out of the path of the bullet, taking refuge on the last step before the landing of the second floor.

I drop the clip from my gun and check to see how many bullets I have left, six. That’s more than enough to finish the job. With my body standing flat against the wall, I attempt to reason with the man in the hallway.

“Tell me who sent you and I’ll let you live.”

“Is that so?” he questions, and I can hear his body shuffling across the floor as he attempts to crawl away. “How about you come here and we’ll talk about this face to face.”

“You must think I’m stupid or something.”

He laughs furiously, but it’s almost as low as a whisper. “You really got involved with the wrong people.”

“Yeah,” I mumble under my breath. “That’s becoming more and more clear.”

I steady my finger against the trigger of the gun and take a moment to steel myself. He’s not going to give me any answers. I exhale softly and pray under my breath before spinning sideways and aiming squarely at his hand. I pull the trigger just as he raises the gun in his hand. Unfortunately for him, I always hit my mark.

He screams out in pain and drops the gun. His head kicks back and lands against the hard floor. But he’s not dead. Not even close. Perhaps I’ll be able to get answers out of him after all.

“How many more of you are there?” I question, steadying my aim at his head. He makes one wrong move and I’m sending his ass to hell where he belongs.

Blood drips from the corner of his mouth as his lips hitch into a wild grin, followed immediately by the laughter of a maniac, made all the more terrifying because his face is hidden behind a ski mask with only his eyes and lips exposed.

He reaches into his pocket and grabs something, and though I can’t discern what, I wait for as long as possible to pull the trigger. I wait until he gives me no other option.

“Stop what you’re doing,” I command him and begin a slow, deliberate pace towards him. “I’ll shoot.”

He grunts as he leans his body upward and stares me down with a grimace across his bloody lips. “That’s not going to matter.

I hear something rolling across the floor and when I look down, I twist immediately on my feet. It’s a grenade. I rush forward, slamming against the wall parallel to the steps and race down them as fast as possible. The grenade rolls between my legs, bouncing from one step to the next.

Ripping the front door open, I cut outside as quickly as humanly possible and just barely manage to outrun the explosion that roars from behind me. I land face down in the grass, covering my head from the heat as it tears over the back of my body like a hot cloud.

I’m alive. I count my blessings and then I count then twice. When I manage to lift my head to survey the wreckage behind me, I first take notice of Summer and Rick hunched over next to the curb. And in her glossy eyes, I see her house painted in embers.

I force myself to my feet and race forward, emergency sirens howling in the distance. No matter how innocent we are in the matter, we don’t have time to argue with the police. It’s more apparent than ever before that this situation is a direct relic from my past and though this might have begun as a simple robbery gone awry, it’s snowballing into something far more sinister.

With Summer’s assistance, I throw one of Rick’s arms over my shoulder and the other over hers. We fireman carry him to the black SUV and assist him into the backseat. Once the both of them are secured in place, I race around, jump into the driver’s seat and search for keys.

Which, of course, they’re not here. They’re probably attached to some dead son of a bitch. It’s been a while, but I have hotwired a car or two in the past. I rip out the wires from beneath the ignition and force a spark that ignites the engine with a roar.

“We need to get him to the hospital,” Summer screams from the backseat, cradling her brother-in-law in her arms. “Now!”

I peel out against the asphalt, leaving black skid marks behind us. In the rearview mirror, red flashing lights show up at the scene of the burning house right before the actual vehicles; squad cars, ambulances, and firefighters.

And though the last place I think we should be going is the hospital, my hands are tied. We dragged Rick into this and now he might be forced to pay the ultimate price. That weighs heavy enough on my heart. I can’t imagine what Summer must be feeling in the moment.

From the very beginning, I’ve wanted nothing more than to protect her, but now it’s become something else. I’m losing in that regard, losing because with every plot twist that transpires, she becomes more and more entrenched in danger than before.

So damn sweet. So damn beautiful. She doesn’t deserve to be dragged into this dark world of crime, and yet the selfish part of me is happy that she has been.

I know that makes me a monster and I can’t bring myself to care. I want to protect her and watch over her. A part of me wishes she were mine. And maybe she could be if I somehow manage to pull this off and in the process keep everyone alive.