"No..."
"Yes, Etta. You're going to love me again. You're going to realize what you've done and you're going to come back. We're going to be happy again and you'll stay here forever. We could even have a family. Wouldn't you like that?"
"No... Please... No."
He chuckled to himself as I clung to the wall. The world around me was shifting, swirling, disintegrating.
"I don't wanna live without you," he said. "If I can't have you I'll kill myself and you're coming with me."
Chapter Nine
LINCOLN
Whether I was imagining it or not, I was sure everyone was looking at me, knowing that I wasn't a cop. Sat in the passenger seat, with the radio crackling in front of me, I felt hideously out of place. As we rounded the corner onto the main street of Etta's old neighborhood, I was sure people were staring at me.
"This is a nice area," remarked Berger as he braked at a red light. "You really think she's gonna be here?"
There was a feeling in my gut I couldn't ignore, the sensation that I was getting closer and closer to her, her presence calling me nearer. I could feel her stronger now, almost smell her, feel her, reach out and hold her...
"I think we're onto something," I said, my flat voice not giving away how truly afraid I really was.
Beside us, a coffee shop was the only building on the street that was still open. With its fake candlelight and slow, watered down jazz, it attracted the local teenagers and hipsters like moths to a flame. Now they were all crammed into the purposely shabby interior, chattering as they sipped on their sugar laden coffee.
From inside, I could just about make out the sound of a weak snare drum. A trombone forced out a cry like a screaming newborn fart and in the window, a blond boy with a fluffy, blond beard tapped his foot against the table leg. He spooned some whipped cream from his cup to his mouth and bounced his head in time to the music.
Across from him, a pretty redhead with oversized glasses and a multitude of piercings tapped away on her laptop, her headphones plugged into her head as she worked.
"Yeah, a real nice place," said Berger.
The red light seemed to be taking forever and he was growing both bored and frustrated, fidgeting in his seat while taking his foot off the pedal for a few seconds at a time.
My eyes remained inside the coffee shop.
"Urgh..." I groaned.
"What's up?"
"The Mc Donald's of the coffee world. What happened to just a damn good espresso instead of a cinnamon toffee pumpkin frappe latte ya ya?"
Berger sniggered and leaned his head back.
"Yeah, something tells me that you don't visit Mc Donald's all that often."
Fuck, this had to be the longest red light in existence. I found myself looking up and down the street to see if someone was playing a trick on us.
Looking back in the coffee shop, I saw the couple in the window was now kissing. It made me feel sick. Not because they were happy, but because I wasn't. I imagined Etta being at home in a place like that when she was younger. I imagined her congregated around one of the leather sofas with her friends, sipping on a hot chocolate, her eyes the same color as the sprinkles, her skin as smooth as the milk.
I wanted to be in there with her, kissing her, holding her beside the fake candle flames as the world around us moved like there wasn't a thing to worry about. As if the only thing we had to think about was that the moment would eventually come to an end.
Beside me, Berger was still fidgeting, scratching at his stubble as he stared off into the distance. At last, the light turned green and he pulled away. There wasn't a single car on the street as we took a sharp left, then coiled our way through the neighborhood until we were confronted with row upon row of identical white houses.
It wasn't too different from where I grew up but it wasn't quite as cozy. It was too clean, too sterile, too boring for someone like Etta to live but it was the perfect place for Craig to hide. Out here, no one would suspect a thing and just like him, I knew the power of anonymity, especially hidden beneath the veil of respectability.
"Where is it?" asked Berger.
I looked down at my phone where I'd taken a screenshot of the directions.
"Up there, first on the right."
"Every street looks the damn same," grumbled Berger.
He veered right and squinted to see into the distance. Switching on the highbeams, they illuminated the road ahead and then we saw it.
The foreclosed sign was standing at an angle as though it was drunk, the lawn that no doubt used to be as tidy as the others now muddy and overgrown.
We parked out front with the lights off.
Down in my stomach, the feeling grew stronger and stronger. It was as though I was being pulled toward the house by an invisible thread.
I clicked the door open, desperate to run over and kick in the door but a heavy hand landed on my arm and pulled me back inside.
"Wait," said Berger.
"What for?"
"Just...."
He pointed up to the top floor.
A light was on in what I assumed was the hall, its bright whiteness visible through a wide bay window. There appeared to be movement, a shadow, the slight shape of a figure.
"There's someone in there," said Berger. "I think you're right."
I was right. There was someone in there.
"What do we do now?" he asked. "We don't know the situation. We can't just break in."
"I think we can."
"No.. We... Bosworth where the hell are you going?"
I took off, running toward the house with my shoes sinking into the mud. Reaching the front door, I pressed my ear up to it. There was a muted voice coming from upstairs, constant and slow as though they were telling a story.
Behind me, Berger's quick footsteps were clambering up the porch steps.
"Shhh..."
He stood beside me, not saying a word. We both just listened.
I wrapped one hand around the door knob and lightly touched the other to his shoulder. He gave me a solemn look and nodded. We both knew what to do.
I rattled the handle and the door didn't budge.
"Step away," said Berger and took a few steps back.
Through the glass, we could see another light turn on then a sound pierced right through me.
A scream.
Etta’s scream.
Chapter Ten
ETTA
Voices.
The rattling of the front door handle.
Someone was at the front door.
I knew who it was immediately. I could feel it in my gut, could almost smell him.
"Lincoln!" I screamed and ripped the chair from the door.
"Don't!" cried mom.
Her fingers were grasping for me but I ignored her and ripped open the door. Craig was already halfway down the stairs with his face thunderous.
"What did you do?" he yelled to me. "How did they know?"
I pushed past him. The only thing I could see was the front door, the shapes of two bodies pushing up against the glass.
"Lincoln!" I cried.
We were so close, only a few steps away from holding each other. I could almost feel him already, could almost feel his safe comforting arms around me.
But before I could move closer, there was a hand around my arm and the cold metallic sensation of a gun barrel being pressed against my temple.
Not now, I thought. Don't let me get so close only to die now. Please, don't let me die now!
The hinges on the door began to buckle as the door gave way. A splinter fell away followed by another and another until small specks of wood were raining down on us and I was crying, crying for him, crying because I was certain I was going to die before I could touch him again.
"He's not going to have you," I heard Craig say through gritted teeth.
There was the sensation of his fingers tightening, the subtle groan of the mechanisms inside the triggers as it was pulled.
&n
bsp; This is it. This is the final second.
The banging on the door continued, the splinters now covering my feet.
"Etta!" I heard Lincoln call and just being able to hear his voice filled me with a strength I thought had long disappeared.
"Lincoln!"
I fought against Craig, kicking him and spitting, punching, biting at him like a wild animal until at last, I wriggled free.
"Bitch! You'll never-"
The gun went off. A blinding light flashed past my eyes. There was the instant smell of gunpowder in the air, the sound of nothing but ringing in my ears.
It unfolded so fast, images whirling in front of me but I couldn't take it in, my brain unable to register a thing. I saw Berger first, pushing his way through the door. Then I saw Lincoln. His face terrified, his eyes wide and desperate like I imagined my own.
He saw me and flung himself forward. Then he was against me, his body so frail and thin but I didn't care. His hands were on me. I could smell him, feel his warmth, feel the softness of his lips as he pressed them to my cheeks, tasting the salt of my tears as they fell silently.
He was saying something, his words moving fast. Behind me, there was a commotion, I could feel it through the tremors in the floorboards but I still couldn't hear a thing but the constant ringing, like a tuning fork vibrating deep within my brain.
I watched his mouth moving, wishing I could hear what he was saying. But I didn't need to. I could read the shapes on his lips. They were as obvious as the relief on his face.
"I love you," he was saying. "Jesus Christ I never thought I'd see you again."
Then he looked over my shoulder at the struggle behind me.
I turned round and saw Berger straddling Craig's chest, the barrel of the gun pointing toward the detective. Craig was exhausted but wasn't giving up without a fight. He pushed and pulled, clenching his jaw so tight with the effort a vein popped out from his forehead.
Slowly, the world came back to me and I could her snippets of sound. There was the sound of Berger grunting as he struggled to hold him down, the noise of Craig's boots battering against the floor.
"You'll never have her!" Craig screamed. "She doesn't love you!"
Lincoln looked on, miserably. Watching him rant and rave like a mad man, his eyes bloodshot and overcome with delusion. Clearly, the world he was seeing wasn't a true one.
"She loves me!" he yelled. "It's me she wants. Not you!"
He struggled one last time then Berger punched him hard below the chin. Two of his bottom teeth came loose on impact and flew from his mouth. They landed at my feet, the roots still attached. The gun fell away from his fingers and Lincoln snatched it before Berger could.
"Stand back," he said.
Berger slid onto the floor, clutching his broken knuckles and wincing in pain.
"Son of a bitch," he said to himself as he flung his head back.
Craig still lay on the floor, blood pouring out from his weak, rubbery lips. The last remnants of sanity had gone from his eyes. He now looked up at Lincoln, knowing his fate was about to come.
The gun was tight in Lincoln's hand, so tight I could see his knuckles turn white on his worryingly thin fingers. His hands were so thin I could see the tendons move like ropes beneath the skin.
"You know what I'm going to do," he said as he stood over Craig. "You know what has to happen."
Craig coughed on his blood and sat up, wiping his chin with the sleeve of his jacket.
"You can have her but I'll always be her first," he said.
Lincoln looked at him for a moment longer. There was a look of pity on his face. He leaned in closer and glanced up at me as though he didn't even really want to do it. He had the look of a man forced to put down a rabid dog.
"Look away," he said to me as he aimed the gun at Craig's head.
"No," I said, not feeling the same sympathy he did. "I want to see him die."
Despite the misery, the fear of death in the air, the smell of torturous heartache all around us, Lincoln managed to smile, a slight curl of his lips just for me.
"That's my girl," he said.
Then he pulled the trigger.
For the second time, the sound of gunfire echoed through my skull but there was no shock, no fear, no reason to be afraid. It was over.
The bullet penetrated Craig's head between his eyes, a perfect red circle forming at the bridge of his nose. The look in his still open eyes told me that he saw it coming. There was pure fear in his face with an expression that revealed a thousand regrets.
For a split second, after the gun fired, he remained awake and aware of everything. Even though he was dying, even though he knew there was nothing but darkness and hopefully hell waiting for him, he managed to swivel those petrified eyes of his in his sockets so that as the life drained from him, he was looking right at me.
I didn't know if he was expecting me to cryor if he hoped that at the last minute I would beg for him to be saved, but as I watched the blood pool out the back of his head, I felt nothing but relief.
For the most fleeting of moments, I thought I saw him glare at me with a look of sheer betrayal. Then his pupils shrunk and he was gone.
For a long while, the three of us just stood and looked down at him. Lincoln wiped the gun down with the sleeve of his jacket then dropped it to the floor. It landed with a clunk beside the body and he kicked it toward Craig's hand.
"Fuck him," he said.
Berger was still clutching his broken hand and frowning.
"Bastard," he said either at his hand or at Craig or at the whole disastrous situation that had unfolded in front of him. "Won't be long until the cops are here," he said. "I mean... You know what I mean."
"We need to leave," said Lincoln.
He pulled off his coat and wrapped it around me. I reveled in the smell of his cologne mixed with sweat. Without thinking, I thrust my hands into the pockets to warm them and felt a small velvet box, but before I could look at it, a creak came from upstairs and we all flinched.
"Mom," I said. "She... came back."
Lincoln and Berger glanced to one another.
"Your mom?"
I nodded.
Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed. There were neighbors out in the street.
Rubberneckers, I thought. They were always the worst. They’d be out there on their phones waiting for the drama.
"Come on," said Lincoln. “It has to be now.”
Berger was already hurrying up the stairs calling for mom.
"Where do we go?" I asked as I clung to Lincoln.
He kissed me hard and when he pulled away I saw there were tears in his eyes.
"Far away from here," he said. "As far away as possible."
The sirens came closer. I could hear them round the corner at the end of the road.
"The back door," I said and pointed toward the kitchen. "It'll take us out to an alley that cuts through the neighborhood."
Berger emerged at the top of the stairs carrying mom like a limp ragdoll.
“I got her,” he said. “Let’s get outta here.”
The four of us limped out into the garden, exhausted but energized with adrenaline.
There was no knowing where we were going to go but I didn’t care. Lincoln slipped his hand into mine and I pulled him toward the alleyway.
Wherever we were going, I knew I was going to be safe.
About The Author
Brooke Kinsley has been in love with words since the day she took her first breath. She loves writing steamy, sexy stories with very strong guys who fall deeply in love with the women they flirt. Coffee and wine inspired her stories and she thinks every person should partake in! Brooke lives in Quebec, Canada with her boyfriend. When she's not crafting stories, she's probably playing with her two cats.
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Jewels and Panties (Book, Ten): Hot Pursuit Page 5
