by Hazel Grace
“You’ll grow,” Marty continues. “Into someone I’ll be so proud of. I have no doubt of that in my mind.”
I hoist it higher, lining with his chest.
“I’d do anything for you, sweetheart, gladly and willingly. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep you safe from anyone. I’d burn the whole fucking world down for you, all you had to do was say the word. One order, and it’s done.”
This time I hesitate but follow his plan and let the barrel climb up his body to about his throat.
“Just in case you didn’t hear it the first time...I love you. With every fucking thing I got. It’s not much, but it’s me. You make me want to come out of the shadows and bask in the sun with you. You create a sense of peace that I want to drown in. I want you always.”
Tears burn the back of my eyes because this plan is starting to sound like a goodbye. A second part to his letter that didn’t make it through the first round.
“Raise the gun,” Marty commands and on impulse and because it’s him, I do. Perfectly aligned with the face that I fell in love with. “On the count of three, baby, you’re going to pull the trigger.”
“Marty, no!” Reagan yells at my left. “Absolutely not.”
“Shut up, Tsarina,” he replies gently, breaking his gaze from me for the first time. “I want that baby’s name to have some of me in it.”
“Stop,” she snaps. “You’re not going to die today.” He smiles at her, it’s weak, but he still lets it slip off his face.
It’s then that I realize there is no blueprint or plan B for the situation we’re in.
This was the plan.
He really wants me to shoot him.
“Sweetheart.” My nickname is a soft drawback to him as I refocus on him standing yards away from me. “Remember what I taught you. The recoil, hold it firmly with two hands, and look down the sight.”
This man is out of his fucking mind right now.
And I wish the words would leave my mouth so I can tell him, but they’re lodged so deep in my throat they’re keeping the broken sob at bay.
“Tell me you love me again,” he coaxes. “I want to hear it one more time. Right off those perfect lips and that voice that practically gets me to my knees.” He sighs and shakes his head. “Damn woman, you got me all sorts of fucked up.”
The first warm teardrop falls, accompanied by a fragmented sob from my chest. Marty looks grief-stricken, probably wanting to hold me but knows it won’t be possible.
He gave up everything to save his sister, and he still is. He has a family, a new nephew or niece coming into this world and B723. They all love him, and I’m aware of how and why because I feel the same thing.
And now, in all Marty’s prideful fashion, he’s about to lose his life for not only Reagan but me too.
He’ll leave behind people who adore him, family members, and friends that I don’t have.
I have no one besides him.
So it makes sense that he doesn’t die today.
“Sweetheart.” Marty’s voice caresses everywhere, my cheek, my heart, my whole damn soul. He may be a lot of things, but a dead man isn’t going to be one of them. “I want those to be the last words. And I know I don’t deserve them after everything I did, but I wish for them anyway. I’ve been completely selfish with you. Might as well do it now too.”
My head bobs up and down, arguing with everything he’s saying. My arm that’s still holding the gun begins to rattle not in fear but because I’m about to say goodbye to a man that has done more for me than anyone.
“I do...love you. So much.” I blink back more tears so I can see him through clear eyes. “You did more for me than anyone else—know that. Without you...I’d still be the scared little girl who never stood up for herself. I wouldn’t look at life the way I do now, free and open...so open.”
“And it’s all there for you, baby,” he returns. “Make me proud, okay?”
My jaw convulses, trying to contain the waves of howls and blubbering that wants to break free.
I wish he wasn’t so good to me.
I wish that I still hated him.
That we had more time.
“I think we’ve heard enough sappy bullshit for now,” Eli finally recites. “Pull the trigger, and you two ladies get to walk out free. Actually...I’ll walk out of here, this is Reagan’s house after all.”
“How about you fucking leave now?” Reagan snaps.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Eli replies. “I’ll be back for Lockwood.”
“Tsarina,” Marty voices. “He’ll be fine.” His eyes stare at her hard. “He’ll be alright.”
He means B723.
And I believe that. Now that they know there is another threat that still remains, they’ll protect all parties involved.
But without Marty, Reagan won’t be able to live it down without him. Their bond is so powerful that I strongly felt it the first time they were together in her kitchen after I ran away from the bunker.
They need each other.
Marty can’t deal with her getting hurt. And if he’s dead, she’s safe with B723, but seeing him shot to death isn’t ideal.
Hazel eyes pierce through me again, and I straighten my spine, ready to make my final decision.
“Ready?” he asks me. “One more time, baby.”
“I love you, Marty.” The sentiment flows freely from my lips like I was always meant to say those four words. That they were the realest and most profound thing I’ve ever had to say.
“And I love you, sweetheart. On the count of three...one.” I step back, pulling the gun off him before placing it under my chin. “What the fuck are you doing?!”
The cool cylinder barrel hits my warmed flesh, and I don’t flinch at his words, they were expected from him.
“Move that fucking gun right the fuck now.”
I don’t because this makes sense.
I have no one but him.
He has everyone.
Marty will mourn me, remember me, but if I live, not only will I be alone—no one will be there to grieve over my death.
It makes sense. It’s what I’m going to do. And there isn’t a thing Marty can say to make me change my mind.
“Stormi.” Marty strides in my direction determined to rip the gun out of my hand. However, he’s liable to do the same thing I’m doing and pull the trigger on his own damn self.
I just thought of it first.
“Stop,” the man behind him bellows before I see him pull out a small gun from his holster and aim at Marty.
The words don’t leave my mouth before I hear the two shots. Marty goes down on one knee then his left palm.
“Fuck!“ he roars, head bowed in pain.
“Marty,” I cry out, wanting to go and comfort him, but if I get close enough—again—he’ll do some crazy shit.
“Stormi,” he grounds out then lifts his chin to look up at me. “Don’t do this to me.”
I’m doing it because I love you.
Maybe my life wasn’t supposed to be a long one. It never was full of friends or family but scary nights and men who wanted to use me. A person put and destined to save and protect others.
I’m not a martyr nor a hero.
I’m the woman who fell in love with a man that has a dark cloud over his head but adores his blood and group of friends.
It’s not his time yet.
Not if I have anything to do with it—and I do.
“I want you...to shoot me,” Marty fumes through furrowed brows. “Not yourself.”
“If you don’t kill him now,” Eli conveys. “I’m going to shoot both of you.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Marty snarls in his direction then comes back to me. “C’mon, sweetheart, I’m begging you.”
“No,” I deadpan.
“I swear to fucking God I will kill you my Goddamn self if you don’t point that gun at me.”
“Close your eyes,” I command as roughly as I can. “And count.”
&
nbsp; “Fuck that.” He scowls at me with such ire that I can feel it hit my whole body. “I’m telling you, woman...do not touch that trigger.” I do, and he attempts to stand but falls short with a distressed grunt. “Stormi!“
It’s now, or never, I know that.
And when he reaches for me, his hazels allude that his heart is about to combust in his chest. That he’s not going to close his eyes and watch me do this.
Just like how I would have had to see him fall to the ground after pulling the trigger on him.
I step back, keeping my eyes locked on his and feeling my hand begin to violently shake in anticipation of the unknown.
I’m doing this for him and only him.
“Stormi,” he imparts again, his hazels glossing over. “Don’t...please, baby.”
My index finger grips the trigger. “You’ll always be the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Then I hear the singular gunshot echo through the room.
My next inhale and heartbeat doesn’t happen. The solitary gunshot that rings through the air and hits my eardrums electrocutes my whole body into a state of shock.
She did it.
After I begged her to stop, she acted. Bringing out the woman that I always told her she was.
Strong, resilient, beautiful, and mine.
Upon the sharp pop of the Smith and Wesson, my eyes snapped shut. They already knew that we didn’t want to see the pool of crimson that I’m all too familiar with. The wound she caused and the possible exit the bullet went through.
I gasp for air, my lungs demanding like I did with her. My stomach splices, sending an uncomfortable spasm through my gut, and I feel like I’m going to throw up.
Then I hear it again.
Two more firework-sounding pops and pure, unadulterated silence. I force my eyelids with all my might to snap open because I have to check on Reagan.
The moment I can pinpoint the room, it’s wrong.
It’s wrong.
Stormi stands in front of me with that pale pink dress, fixedly gaping at the floor beside her.
My jaw slacks because I can’t be that lucky. I’m a bastard who doesn’t deserve her but took her anyway.
Her blue eyes flick to mine, and I slide across the hardwood floors with my good leg, dragging the other that has a bullet lodged in the back of my thigh.
Finding me approaching, she falls to her knees as I reach her, hauling her into my chest. She smells of some flower shit that I’m not acquainted with as my palms cup her face, brushing the pads of my thumbs along her soft cheeks.
She’s only inches away, but she feels like a mile. It’s almost like a dream.
“You,” I breathe, studying her.
Her soft fingers touch my chest, then my right cheek as a teardrop falls to my hand.
She’s here.
“You’re going to pay for all the shit you pulled.”
“I’m fine,” she mutters, tears voluntarily falling. “I had to, Marty.”
Squeezing the sides of her stupid, adorable face, I say, “No, you didn’t. I told you to point that fucking gun at—where is it?” I begin to scour the floor when I locate Eli face down on the floor.
Laying in the pool of blood I imagined being around Stormi.
The fuck?
“Consider the debt repaid for my ex-wife.” My attention trails to Wade, standing next to Reagan, who just jumped up from the chair and into his arms.
“Why didn’t you just hit him in the shoulder,” I carp. “I had plans for that motherfucker.”
Wade presses a kiss to the top of my sister’s hair whose face is currently tucked into the nook of her husband’s arm.
“Too dramatic,” he replies, wrapping his arms around Reagan’s back. “I prefer quick and easy.”
“I prefer nice and slow because—did you know what he did to my sister?” Wade’s brows clash together.
Now he’s going to wish he did it my way.
“Marty,” Stormi recites, sucking all my focus from the douchebag that just saved our asses and back to her. She gapes at me like I’m insane for still bitching about Eli when he’s been handled. “Do you ever calm down?”
“Never,” Emmy chimes from behind me. “And you’re bleeding all over Reagan’s floor.”
Who the fuck cares?
“They didn’t teach him nice back in—where the fuck are you from again?”
Mills.
I don’t have to peer over my shoulder because he squats down, right in between Stormi and I, like the pain in my ass he’s been the whole time.
“Hey, Cinderella,” he greets with a small smile her way. “You’re a psycho, you know that?”
“Can you give us some fucking space?” I censure. “I haven’t even gotten to yell at her yet.”
A small hand loops underneath my arm. “Lockwood,” Emmy calls out. “Help me lift him up?”
“Dude,” I complain. “Can I have—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Wade carps, promptly at my other side. “We already heard you talk enough about your feelings, and I’m queasy as hell from it.”
Amazing, I had an audience.
“It was sweet,” Emmy whispers closely at my side because it was sappy as fuck but true. “I had my sight on the dude behind you, good thing I didn’t cry. I might’ve missed.”
“After this,” I grumble. “I’m beginning to wish you had.”
I’m lifted up, positioned so I can stand on my good leg but pulled away from where I want to be. As well as all the shit I have to say.
With Emmy and Wade on my sides, I take a split second to appreciate how lucky I am that they pulled through. Another minute or so, it would’ve been too late. I would have lost everything that my heart longed for and would never get back.
I also have to watch Mills grab Stormi’s hand and gently guide her upward. I’ve barely gotten to touch her yet, and...here we go again.
“I have a first aid kit in the back of the trunk,” Emmy advises, slowly helping me turn around. “We’ll get you bandaged and—”
“I need everyone out of the room,” I bark out. “Then you can administer first aid.” Wade immediately lets go of me, not about to argue about the possibility of me bleeding to death.
He understands me—it’s all I could ask for in a brother-in-law.
“Alright, clear the room,” Emmy announces, then lightly tugs on my shirt. “Three minutes, I’ll be counting.”
“Of course you will, Em.”
She doesn’t move, staring up at me before she rapidly begins to blink. Diverting her eyes, she hides the fact that she’s about to cry.
I pull her in for a hug, resting my chin for a moment on top of her head when I mumble, “Go start my timer and grab me a beer. I’m going to need it.”
She nods then pulls away from me as I steer my attention back to the woman I want to throttle. Who I crave to kiss because it’s been too long since I got to taste her.
Yes, it was my doing, but this woman almost blew her head off.
“You,” I command gruffly from the pain throbbing through my whole right leg and because I’m pissed. I point at the ground in front of me. “Come here.”
Hesitantly, she does, keeping a safe two feet in between us which might be for the better. However, space is something we’ve had too much of here lately.
“If you ever do something like that to me again, I swear to God, sweetheart, I will—
“I don’t regret what I did,” she admits, lifting her chin defiantly. “There isn’t—” Snatching her bicep, I haul her into my chest, almost knocking myself off balance.
“Regret it,” I seeth through my teeth. “You have no fucking idea what you almost did to me.”
“Same,” she deadpans through furrowed brows.
She’s talking about dropping her off and leaving her alone. I grit my teeth together to keep from yelling.
“So this was payback? Blowing your fucking head off—”
“No—” She blows out a long breath.
“—it was to protect you and Reagan.”
“That’s valiant of you.” I loom towards the rest of the air between us. “But next time, let’s not do it with a weapon pointed anywhere at your body.”
She perks a brow. “I’m assuming that goes for you too?”
“Sure, baby.” I brush her lower lip with mine. “If it keeps you alive, no assisted suicide attempts. Happy?”
Stormi dips her head in agreement as I skim one of my hands down her side, stopping at her hip.
I inhale her again, pressing my forehead to hers and reveling in the silence of the house.
“God, sweetheart…” My mind goes back to images of her with the gun under her chin. The instant blood rush of adrenaline and fear that sprinted through my body.
I’ve never felt such a powerful helplessness in all my life. With Reagan, I could get to her, I saw her still moving in the water. I could give her CPR and revive her.
But a bullet through the head wasn’t something a few bandaids and a visit from Lucien was going to fix.
“Mhm?” Her inhales and exhales blend with mine as she hums her response, sounding content to just be here with me.
“I’m sorry.” I press my skin firmer against hers. “I didn’t think...I never would’ve left you if I knew danger was still out here. You never would’ve left my sight.”
Her fingers lace into my free hand, attempting to comfort me when it should be the other way around. I’m used to bullshit—or so I thought.
I’ve already experienced close calls with Reagan twice from two separate parties. Stormi was...it was smothering just deliberating how her life wasn’t one I could protect, even from herself. I was receptive of a lot of things that she was but a sacrifice?
“Do you promise me?” I ask. “Promise me...Stormi that you’ll never do that again because I can’t have my potential wife acting like a hero.”
She skews back to consider me; my words, my face, how much I’m seriously not kidding.
“I’ll stick with the knives then.” My hands clamp onto her face, and I loom over it, watching her blue eyes make a mockery of how I’m never going to be able to rightfully force her to do shit.
“Keep it up,” I convey in a low growl. “I’ll lock you right back in that damn bunker, sweetheart, do you hear me?”
