In the rearview mirror I could see Roland walking toward me, a confident saunter. I smacked at the power locks and sucked in a shaky breath, placing both hands on the steering wheel. I stared out the front windshield, as if somehow looking straight ahead would make everything on either side of the car disappear.
It didn’t.
There was a quick, friendly rapping on the driver’s-side window, which unleashed a torrent of pinpricks down my spine and cemented every muscle in my body. I willed myself to move my head, just enough to see Roland out the side window, his grin wide and winning. He pinched the car keys in his fat Vienna sausage fingers and waved them triumphantly.
My heart skidded to a stop. I felt the slow smolder of terror start as our eyes met in a deadlocked gaze, and our stares held each other until they met at the door lock.
I swallowed hard, watched the pink triangle of Roland’s serpentine tongue dart out from between his pressed lips. We dove for the lock at the same time. He was clutching the keys, sinking them into the outside lock; I was pushing my palm so hard against the power lock that I was certain the narrow hunk of plastic would tear through my palm. I heard the sickening squeak of metal pushing against plastic as he turned the key and the lock fought to disengage. I heard every other lock in the car pop up with a jaunty, terrifying
When I looked up, Roland was gone, diving for the next open door. I clawed at the handle and opened it myself, kicking open the door, hearing it thunk as it hit hard. The car door swung wide, and Roland was flat out on his back. He rolled like a walrus on sand, his hands pressed against his nose. Blood streamed between his palms as he lay on the cement.
“You fucking bitch!” he managed to mutter. “You fucking broke my nose!”
But I was past response.
I launched myself from the driver’s seat and had nearly cleared Roland, was feeling light and airy and Wonder Woman chic, until I felt a hand clamp around my ankle. A firm yank brought me clattering to the pavement; my knees and palms were pressing into the concrete, my delicate skin being shredded.
I felt my teeth clamp down hard on the soft flesh of my lower lip. I felt the skin open easily and then my mouth was filled with blood so hot and viscous it was like liquid steel.
“Ooh!”
My chin went down next and then my cheek skidded across the concrete. My forehead scraped the ground and I dug the pads of my fingertips against the cement, trying to kick out of Roland’s grasp. He was strong and every inch of my body cried out with stinging, searing heat. Adrenaline was pooling, weighing down each limb. He had a knee in my back and then flipped me over quickly, straddling me. His thighs were clamped hard around my hips, and I cursed Suzanne Somers and her goddamn ThighMaster as I tried to swivel uselessly underneath him.
“Forget it,” he said, his hate foaming at the sides of his mouth, his saliva raining over me.
I tried again to wriggle, to move, but Roland was pinning me. My arms were clamped to my sides; my legs kicked and bucked futilely in the mocking yellow slash of streetlight.
I opened my mouth and choked on my own breath as Roland’s hands clamped down on my throat. His fat sausage thumbs dug against my windpipe.
“I’ve worked too damn hard with that tool Harley to let a fucking beast like you ruin everything.”
In my mind I was answering him. In my mind my eyes were still open and I was still aware of the ice-cold night, the little bit of streetlight, and the furious, berserk look in his narrowed eyes. In my mind I wasn’t feeling lighter and lighter. My eyelids weren’t feeling heavy; the colors of the night weren’t starting to fade into muted, bleeding blotches.
I tried to gasp. I tried to suck in the smallest micro inch of air through my parted lips, but the effort seared everything inside me. Suddenly there was the loudest, most sickening
“Sophie! Sophie!”
Will’s voice was needling at me through a purple haze and I tried to turn toward him. He was dead, too.
“We’re dead,” I told him, my lips feeling heavy and purple; hot pools of bloody saliva dripping from my mouth. “We’re both dead now, Will.”
“No, we’re not. Sophie, open your eyes!”
“I’ll kill you both!”
I opened my eyes just in time to see Roland go for Will’s wrist. Will easily turned him around and wrapped his muscular forearm around Roland’s neck. I was so mesmerized I didn’t hear the sound of plastic and metal sliding across the concrete until the gun hit my thigh and stopped sliding.
“Pick it up, Sophie!”
I stared blankly at the gun, then up at Will; his face was red as Roland flailed wildly, trying to bash Will in the head, trying to go for the bloody gouge that was already there.
Suddenly Will lost his footing and the pair was tumbling, limbs flailing, the sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh resounding as they fought.
“Soph—”
The sound of Roland’s knuckles making contact with Will’s jaw cut off my name. I wrapped my hand around the gun when Roland rolled over and had Will pinned. I closed my eyes and squeezed the trigger, the popping of the bullet roiling through my body, cracking in my brain. I opened my eyes and gawked.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Roland bucked liked a bronco and flopped off Will, making the loudest, most terrifying sound I’ve ever heard. I saw the soles of Will’s shoes first—flailing, kicking at the cement, then dropping silent.
I heard nothing but the blood rushing in a fierce flow through my ears. My heart clanged and the tears were rolling over my cheeks before I knew I was crying. I didn’t care about Roland, who was scratching the driver’s-side door, trying to get into his car. I threw the gun aside and crab walked over to Will, willing myself to look at him, to see him. I would stop the bleeding; I would wait until the ambulance came; I would beg him to hold on for just a few more precious moments. I saw the police lights flashing in the distance. Could hear the mournful wail as the squad cars closed in.
“Will?” I whispered, grasping his hand. “Please hold on. Please.”
I swallowed hard and Will blinked up at me, coughing, using the back of his hand to wipe at the blood and spit on his lips.
“Will!”
“Oh, love.” Will struggled to sit up. His face was scratched and bruised, and bits of rust-colored blood dried in his hair, around his nose, was liquid at the corner of his mouth. His rubbing at it only made it worse.
“I thought I shot you.”
“Hands where I can see them!” someone barked.
The cop cars were on us and I shielded my eyes against the overwhelming wash of headlights and raised my hands. There were two squad cars with six cops in fighting stance, knees bent, guns drawn. Behind them came a parade of flashing-light cars—an ambulance, a fire truck, more cop cars. My heart exploded in overwhelming joy, and relief washed over me in cool waves.
“Put them up!”
My heart did a double thump and I thought about explaining, but I saw those muzzles at the ready. I raised my arms higher, until I realized all of the officers had their guns trained on Roland. He reluctantly, slowly pulled his hands from where they had been—cradling his butt—and I saw that they were covered in blood.
“She shot me!” he screamed, bits of spit flying out of his mouth as he aimed a blood-drenched index finger at
