by J. M. Stone
He shifted, leaning forward on the counter. “You ready to come home now?”
Pulse pounding, I finally found my voice. “You need to leave.”
He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. “Well, that’s not very friendly of you, Chloe. I thought after all this time you’d be happy to see me, to get back to the way things were. I forgive you, you know. For throwing me in jail like I’d really done something wrong.”
A harsh laugh escaped my throat. “You practically cut my child from my body, Greg. You DID do something wrong! I don’t know how you got out, but you need to leave now.” Calling up false bravado, I straightened to my full (though not really threatening) height. “The cops are on their way.”
He chuckled. “Nice try, sunshine,” he said mockingly.
I gasped at the usage of my nickname from Brandon.
Greg’s face crumpled, the rage I was so much more familiar with working its way to the surface.
“You think I don’t know about your little fling with the pretty boy? Huh?” He snarled, his fingers gripping the edge of the counter hard enough that the sturdy wood groaned. “You think I don’t know that you’ve been letting him stick his Goddamned dick all up in your fuckin’ cunt? You’re a whore!”
He roared the last bit and I cheered internally, knowing there was no way that Brandon didn’t hear that. But I didn’t think of the consequences.
I didn’t think of the fact that Brandon would see red and come charging around the corner, past the counter full-tilt and tackle Greg to the ground. I didn’t think of the fact that Greg could have been armed.
I didn’t think that Brandon could get hurt…until I saw the gun.
I heard the blast and saw Brandon flinch; I heard Greg yelling as he shoved Brandon off of him. I saw the blood bloom on Brandon’s arm and I was fleetingly grateful to see it coming from the fleshy part of his shoulder, seeming more like a graze than anything. But then dread settled in the pit of my stomach as I saw Greg jump to his feet and level the gun at Brandon’s head where he was moving to get up.
Brandon froze, his eyes trained on Greg, watching every move. I’d come around the counter, moving instinctively toward them, to try to break them apart or something…I wasn’t sure. Now, from my position, I could see the client Brandon had in his studio peering around the corner. He motioned carefully, staying hidden as much as possible, to let me know that he’d called the cops.
Hope rose in my chest but I choked it down, refusing to let it show on my face. Brandon held his hands up, flinching as the muscle in his arm pulled at his wound, which was steadily oozing blood, the drops of bright red splattering on the floor in a gruesome masterpiece of horror.
Greg, without taking his eyes off of Brandon, barked, “Chloe. With me. Now.”
Tears welled up in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. The helplessness of the situation was killing me. There was no way I was risking Brandon’s life by refusing, but I could see him shaking his head at me, pleading silently for me not to move.
I took a shaky step toward Greg, watching the anger and fear grow on Brandon’s face. I could feel his desperation, knew that he was berating himself for attacking Greg without thinking, without assessing the situation.
Suddenly, Brandon’s client stepped out, holding the phone out in front of him. “I called the cops. They’re on the way but you have time to leave. Just leave her alone and get the hell out of here, man.”
I saw the color leech from Greg’s face as he realized that there was someone else there. His hand holding the gun wavered briefly and I saw Brandon tense, readying himself to make a move. Greg saw it too, though, and shook his head at him.
“Don’t fucking do it. You’ll regret it, I promise you. I’ll put a bullet in your brain faster than you can blink, mother fucker.” He motioned with the gun. “Crawl over there by Mr. Hero who called the cops. Don’t do anything funny or you’ll fucking regret it. Before I shoot you, I’ll put a bullet straight through blondie’s eye socket just to prove that you’ll have her over her dead body.”
Brandon’s gaze flickered back and forth between me and Greg and I pleaded with him with my eyes to please not do anything stupid. After what seemed like an eternity, Brandon finally moved, carefully sliding himself along the floor awkwardly to avoid jarring his injured arm. Greg followed his every move with the gun, his gaze never wavering. He’d apparently already assessed Brian, Brandon’s client, and discounted him as a threat beyond the use of his cell phone.
When Brandon had moved far enough away to satisfy Greg, he stepped forward and dug the fingers of his free hand into my upper arm, jerking me into his side. As soon as I was pressed against him, his arm moved, wrapping around my throat and trapping me in the crook of his elbow, the sinew of his forearm tightening against my windpipe threateningly. His other hand moved and then, horrifically, the barrel of the gun was pressed firmly against the underside of my jaw, digging in painfully.
“NO!” Brandon shouted, unable to stay silent any longer. “Please, just let her go. I’ll go with you instead, or you can just get out of here. Just leave and we’ll make sure you’re never found. Just leave us alone, leave Chloe alone. Don’t do this…”
He was pleading and I hated it. I hated that I brought this to them, that this was my fault. I knew it as certainly as I took my next breath, difficult though it was. But I also knew that I was going to do everything in my power to make this disappear, even if it meant sacrificing myself, my happiness, to do so.
Greg laughed, the sound grating on my ears. He jiggled me in his arms. “You hear that? He’s wanting me to trade him for you. He’s such a dumbass, Chloe. What the fuck did you see in him?” His mouth went slack and he said, mockingly in a high-pitched, whiny voice, “No, please Mr. Greg. Don’t hurt my pansy ass, Mr. Greg. I wanna suck your dick, Mr. Greg!”
His face tightened with rage once more. “You’re a fucking disgrace you piece of shit! You don’t deserve my Chloe and you damn sure will never touch her again, you fucking fuckwad!” he screamed.
I choked as his arm tightened even more on my windpipe, cutting off all air. I struggled in his arms, seeing spots dance before my eyes. He jerked me around a bit, shaking me and yelling at me to knock it off, though his arm did loosen just enough so I could breathe.
“Don’t do anything stupid, douchebag. We’re leaving before the cops get here, so say goodbye to your precious sunshine,” he sneered.
He backed away from Brandon and Brian, pulling me along with him. We could hear sirens screaming through the air at this point and I dragged my feet, hoping to buy some time, but it didn’t help. He picked me up by my throat, uncaring that my fingers were clawing at his forearm locked around my neck. He just jammed the gun deeper under my chin, effectively stilling me when it cocked, the sound loud and echoing in my ear.
I stumbled along with him, my eyes never leaving Brandon, who was almost vibrating with rage and helplessness as I was dragged further and further away from him. Greg hit the door with his back and pushed it open. I could feel him tense, readying himself to turn and run in a bid to get away before either of two things happened; 1. The cops showed up, or 2. Brandon managed to get up and make it outside.
My feet dangled above the pavement as Greg lifted me by the throat again, running as fast as he could to a nondescript, older model car pulled along the side of the building. He wrenched the door open and released his arm, shoving me inside roughly. He turned the key, dropping the gun in his lap and reaching for me as I fell across the console into the passenger seat, my hand automatically going to the door handle.
He wrenched me up by my hair, jerking me back around as he threw the car into drive and punched the gas, never relinquishing his hold on my hair. Tires squealed as he peeled out of the parking lot, skidding sideways into the street. I was thrown into the door as the car fishtailed, my nails breaking as I scrabbled for the door handle again, but never made contact as I was thrown back across the car when the car shifted again.
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br /> I felt his hand release my hair and watched as he tossed a handful of golden strands into my lap. I became aware of a dull, stinging sensation on my head, but pushed it away as I reached for the door handle again. I grasped the cool medal in my hand and pulled desperately, a cry torn from my throat when I realized it was doing nothing.
A low, evil laugh sounded beside me. “Like I was really gonna be stupid enough to give you a way out. Stupid little cunt.”
I could hear the sirens of the police department, now following the erratic path of Greg’s driving. Somehow, though, he managed to make it to the highway, merging onto I-70 like he was driving a tank. I was jarred, thoroughly shook up, when he sideswiped a car in the right lane as he shot past it, but he managed to keep control and floored it.
I cowered in the seat while I watched the speedometer climb, passing 65, flying by 75, shooting straight to 90 in a flash. I eyed the gun, tucked just under his thigh on the seat. My fingers twitched and I clenched them in my lap.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Greg said, his tone menacing. “Grab for this gun and I promise you, I’ll break every single one of your fingers before I put you on your knees and shove my cock down your throat. I remember how much you liked that.”
A police cruiser paced us, lights blazing, sirens wailing, but made no move to get up around us. Greg huffed. “Goddamn asshole, fucking calling the cops. Now look what we have to deal with.” He sighed and then, spying an exit, yelled, “Hold on!” as he wrenched the wheel to the right, laughing maniacally as I screamed in terror.
Horns blared and tires squealed but we managed to barrel onto the exit ramp and down it without hitting anyone or anyone hitting us. I closed my eyes and tried to block everything out, almost willing the car to roll or something, anything to make it all stop. I didn’t care about my own safety anymore; I just cared about stopping Greg once and for all.
We got to the bottom of the ramp and skidded sideways as Greg took a left; thankfully, there were no cars around for the moment. He sped up and I opened my eyes to peek at where we were. I saw a park coming up on the right and Greg must have, too.
“Oh, well. Guess this is where it’ll play out, won’t it, sweetheart?” he leered, glaring at me as he wrenched the wheel of the car to the right and turned into the park at full speed.
The car fishtailed again and he lost control, spinning out, around and around and around, dirt and dust and smoke billowing all around us until I couldn’t see. I braced myself as best I could, but it didn’t help. I was thrown around the car, my head cracking against the side window hard enough that I saw stars.
I moaned at the pain in my head, but there was nothing I could do about it at the moment. I was too busy trying to keep myself from flying all around the car. With one last, shuddering crash, the car came to rest, by the grace of God, on all four wheels, lodged up against the, thankfully, empty playground. I heard more tires spinning and squealing, the sound of the sirens blaring all around us making my head pound even worse. I could feel a sticky dampness trickling down my ear and neck, and I knew then that I’d busted my head pretty good on the window.
I heard a low groan beside me and saw Greg shaking his head. He didn’t look like he was injured. I glanced down, holding my breath when I saw that the gun was no longer tucked under his thigh. Suddenly, a loudspeaker squawked and an officer called out, calling Greg by name and telling him to exit the vehicle with his hands up.
“Mother fucker!” Greg shouted, punching the steering wheel. His eyes were wild, his breathing erratic. “Goddamn it!” He jerked his head toward me and pinned me with a narrow stare. “You know, you’re more fucking trouble than you’re worth. I should have just killed you the day I cut that bastard outta you. Thought I did. And now look where it’s got me.”
“J-just let me go, Greg,” I stammered. “The car is surrounded by cops and you know they aren’t going to just let you drive away.”
He snarled and his hand shot out, catching the side of my face with a vicious backhand. I bit my lips hard enough to draw blood to keep from crying out. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. As I slowly turned my head forward again, I saw him shift, reach behind his back and, to my chagrin, pulled another gun from the waistband of his jeans, pointing it in my direction.
“Greg,” I pleaded. “Don’t do this.”
The cops were ramping up their demands, the bullhorn echoing in the stillness surrounding us. It was like time had frozen; we were at a standoff and, at this point, I had no idea which way this would go. Regardless, I knew that it probably wouldn’t end well.
He cocked the gun just as I caught the glint of metal out of the corner of my eye. The gun that had been tucked under this leg was lying on the floor beside his foot, and he wasn’t paying any attention to it. In that split second, I made a decision. It was reckless, but by the time I thought it all out, it was too late.
It was over.
I forced myself to go limp like I had passed out, flopping sideways toward Greg in the driver seat. Caught off guard, the hand holding the gun jerked and I went deaf as the blast echoed around the enclosed car when his finger tightened on the trigger. I heard glass shatter and chaos outside the vehicle, but I tuned it out as I let my arm flop down, my finger brushing against and then closing over the gun on the floorboard. Greg’s hand fisted in my hair, sending sharp pain over my scalp.
Before I could do anything, another shot rang out and Greg yelled in rage. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears because all I could think is that I’d been shot. My whole body was numb with a combination of shock and adrenaline. I could feel hot, wet tears coursing down my face as I sat up, Greg’s fingers still tangled painfully in my hair. Without thinking, before the gun had even cleared the seat completely, I pulled the trigger, blindly aiming for his lap, just wanting some kind of distraction so I could get away.
Without waiting to see if I’d actually hit him, I wrenched my head out of his grasping fingers, my eyes watering at the searing sting of hair being ripped free. I scrambled for the door, my fingers scrabbling at the lock, finally pulling it up, but before I could open the door, it was pulled from my grasp. I tumbled out of the car into the waiting arms of an officer, who rushed me away from the car and straight into an ambulance.
It wasn’t until later that I realized it wasn’t tears running down my face. It was blood. And it wasn’t mine.
It all happened in the blink of an eye. Just a fraction of my life that I will never, ever forget. Because I shot Greg that day.
Because Greg died that day.
Chapter 21
“Chloe.”
I jerked my head around, snapped out of my reverie by the quiet by firm sound of my name being called. From the tone, it was apparent that it wasn’t the first time, either.
“Yeah. Sorry,” I said, contrite. I slammed the flash book closed on the counter, where it’d been laid out for the last client of the day.
“You ready?” Brandon asked.
I nodded and walked back into his studio, closing the door behind me. He gave me a second to change into a strapless shirt, just for the sake of the shop more than modesty. I mean, seriously. We live together, share a bed, and trust me…he’s seen me naked. Lots.
With a brisk knock, he peeked his head in and grinned, joking, “Damn! I missed the show!”
I heard grumbling behind him and laughed, knowing that Luke must have been passing by the door.
“Is it wrong that this has me a little excited?” Brandon quipped, coming fully into the studio. He left the door open; it was after closing time on a Saturday night, so there was no one else coming in, we were closed the next day, and Luke was getting ready to leave. T.J. had been really distant, almost jumpy for a few days and then called that morning to say he had something to take care of and wouldn’t be back for a couple weeks. Luke and Brandon were okay with him taking the time off, since they’d cut him into the business like they’d talked about, but I don’t think he’d been asking.
It’d been forty-two days since that fateful day when Greg walked into the shop and tried to kidnap me. Well, he did kidnap me, but…it wasn’t for long.
I’d ended up with six stitches in my head where it’d busted open against the window. Other than that, I had some bruising and small scrapes and cuts, mostly from him hitting me or from me flying around the car while he drove like a maniac.
They figured, from start to finish, the whole thing had taken about twenty minutes. I’d only been in the car with him at the park, during the stand-off, for about five minutes. It seemed so much longer when I was trapped in there. Turns out I hadn’t been shot; when I dropped down to reach for the gun, the wild shot from Greg’s gun that shattered the windshield had also almost hit an officer standing outside his car.
Since I was down and there was a clear shot, they’d fired back, hitting him in the chest, piercing his heart. He was already dying when I shot him. They did say that my shot made sure he’d never have kids if he’d survived; but I’d also nicked his femoral artery, so his survival wasn’t guaranteed, just by my hand alone.
The investigation was over, I was free. I felt guilt over the fact that I shot him; but at the same time, I was liberated by the fact that I would never have to watch over my shoulder again. Oddly enough, the nightmares had stopped completely about two weeks after the incident. Things were back to normal…well, as normal as could be with my group of family and friends.
I’d finally given in to Brandon and had been talking to a counselor about everything that happened. I’d been able to let go of the guilt I had harbored all those years, all the blame…and all the hurt, especially over what happened with my baby. Brandon had tattooed a small pink heart right above my hip bone for me, just as a little reminder of that little heart that had grown inside me, however so briefly.
But life was good.
And I was getting another tattoo.
“Well, you get excited about weird things, so no, I’d say it’s not wrong. At least not for you, anyway.”
