These men might have thought they could fight, but Macon was a fighter.
I scrambled up, trying to help, but I didn’t know what I was doing. I had only taken self-defense classes. I wasn’t a fighter. I had told Macon before that I had been on the wrong side of a fist one too many times. I didn’t want to see it now. But now Macon was using what he had learned to protect me, to help me find my son.
And I couldn’t forget that, even if I hated it.
Someone tugged at my hair, and I screamed, but then Adam was there, pushing me off the porch. I fell to the grass, my fingernails digging into the dirt. I scrambled up, but then Adam kicked me in the side. I let out a breath, pain radiating through my ribs as I tried to get up again.
“You stupid bitch. You deserve nothing. That place that you love with the coffee and all the sugar? That should be mine. You were too busy on your back before to give me anything but that sweet pussy. But now you’re old and dry. And that little Boulder Bean or whatever the cute-as-fuck name you decided to call it? That should be mine. You need to know what’ll happen if you resist. I deserve every single penny that comes from that place because I was the one who supported you. When your mommy and daddy left, I was the one that put food in your mouth. I gave you everything. And you threw it back in my face.”
“You gave me nothing!” I spat, wiping blood from my mouth.
I had nothing left to lose.
Yet I had everything to lose.
Adam hit me again and again.
I could hear Macon’s struggles as he fought to come to my side; only it wasn’t going to work. There were so many against him, and he was by himself.
Soon, though, I knew the police officers had to come back. They would check in with those on patrol and the ones watching the house and realize that something was wrong. My friends would be here. Others would come.
But I didn’t think it would be fast enough.
I tried to scramble to my feet, but Adam hit me in the face with the gun, and I nearly blacked out, blood seeping out of my mouth.
Adam pulled me up by my hair and shook me, and I kicked, scratched, leaving a bloody streak down his face. He hit me again and again.
But he didn’t shoot me.
No, he wanted me for something.
Panic clawed at me, and I tried to get away.
Macon was coming for me. I knew he would get there.
He kept moving, quicker, the men behind him down on the ground, all out.
Blood coated his face, his side, his hands.
He had done that for me.
And he was coming for us.
And then Adam raised the gun, and I moved.
I thought of Joshua, thought of my friends, and I thought of Macon.
I couldn’t let Adam kill him.
So I moved. I tried to get the gun.
Suddenly, there was a fiery pain in my leg as we both fell. I heard a scream, and then there was nothing.
Chapter 19
Macon
The echo of the gunshot filled my mind, but this time, it wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t my past.
I could smell the sharp stench of gunpowder, feel the burn in its wake, but I wasn’t standing in the shop nor off the back patio, I wasn’t watching my life end.
Instead, I heard a sharp gasp, and then both Adam and Dakota were on the ground.
Dakota wasn’t moving, and everything broke inside me. A chasm of death and destruction filled me, and I knew I needed to stop it. I knew I needed to move forward and find a way to think, make sure she was okay, but all I saw was that sniveling piece of a man backing away from Dakota, his eyes wide and vacant.
As if he hadn’t realized or couldn’t comprehend that he had just shot Dakota.
I roared and went at him. Adam looked at me, his stoned eyes widening comically before he reached for the gun. I kicked it out of the way and leapt on him. I punched him over and over. Adam tried to push at me, to pull free, but he was too weak.
And I wasn’t thinking clearly.
I punched harder, hitting him again.
Adam put his hands in front of his face and then kicked and punched. I saw a flash of silver to my right and realized that Adam had pulled a knife out of his pocket. I twisted the other man’s wrist, and he screamed in a high-pitched wail before the blade fell into the grass.
The grass now turning a rusty red because of the blood.
Dakota’s blood. I needed to go to her. I hit Adam again, one time after another. When Adam finally quit moving, I moved off him, my hands covered in red, and knelt beside Dakota.
She lay there, weak, her eyes fluttering open as she grabbed her leg. I stripped off my button-down shirt, leaving me in a tank, and rolled it into a ball, pressing it against Dakota’s calf.
She let out a scream and looked up at me, her whole body shaking.
“Joshua. Where is Joshua?”
“We’ll find him. We need to take care of you right now.”
“I’m fine. I think I am anyway.”
“We’ll make sure of that.”
Sirens wailed, and I knew that someone had likely heard the gunshot and called, or maybe even they had realized that the plainclothes officers weren’t answering their phones.
I didn’t care how it had happened, but help was coming.
And then there was a terrified scream, a rustle in the trees, and Joshua ran out, a rope dangling from his ankle. He ran towards us, his hands duct-taped in front of him, his eyes wide, and tears streaming down his face.
“Get him. Get him!” Dakota rasped, her whole body convulsing with sobs.
I stood up, leaving Dakota—the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life—and ran
