Trust in Me (22 page)

Malcolm wasn’t fazed by her remark. He had a story to tell. To gloat. And she needed to let him. Amanda needed more time to get to that door. “Larson couldn’t believe his luck when he saw you out on the street. He thought he was leaving empty-handed and screwed until you walked right past his car and you never even knew it. I almost didn’t believe him, but he’s a good talker. Good enough to convince me to come and see for myself, anyway.”

“Thought as much.” She hadn’t considered where the weasel had gone after Amanda had sent him packing. A mistake she could only kick herself for. All the same, she hoped that bastard had a ring in hell just waiting for him.

“Did you
feel
me, Kayla?” His voice dropped, almost to an intimate whisper. “Feel me watching you? Know I was coming back for you?”

It made her stomach turn that he could make stalking her sound sexual. But then, Malcolm knew his weapons well.

“You always were impossible to sneak up on. Not that it ever changed anything. I always got what I wanted from you.” His chuckle made her skin crawl.

“Not everything.”

The laughter stopped. “I see four years hasn’t made you any less of a bitch.”

He had no idea.

“No sixth sense in the world is going to get you out of this room, Kayla.”

Amanda’s stealth had earned her another precious foot closer to the door. How Amanda would get through it quietly, Susie wasn’t sure, but if she could keep him from turning that gun…

Susie took a gamble, stepping toward the back of the store. “Is killing me really worth ruining the rest of your life? Haven’t I taken enough from you?”

The gun followed her, but his expression was full of warning. “I don’t have a life.” His lip curled into a sneer. “You made sure of that.”

Genuine surprise had her eyebrows rising. “All I did was leave. Alive.”

Malcolm shook his head, his once-handsome face twisting into a mask of anger. “You turned him against me. Because of you, I lost everything.”

Him. The only person Malcolm gave any credence to, though she could never tell if his feelings were tied to the man or his purse strings. “Christopher hates me. He’s always hated me.”

He’d thought his son had married beneath them, and his wife hadn’t seemed to feel much differently. She’d always thought half the reason Malcolm wanted her was to irritate his parents, and if that was the case it had worked like a charm.

“Oh he did. He hated you like a rash he couldn’t get rid of.” Malcolm’s smile was almost as frightening as the gun he brandished so steadily. “Even after you were gone. Every time he looked at me, I could see him thinking about
you
. About what you made me do. I was a good person before you. Now look at me. I have nothing while you take everything.”

Ah yes,
everything
. A few thousand dollars and some medical records that never belonged to him. The stupidity of the accusation was the last straw.

“I
never
made you do anything.
No one
makes you do anything, remember?” Her words were quiet, but she said them. They didn’t shake, even if she was starting to.

It was strange. She always thought if she was ever in a room with this man again, she’d fall apart. She’d freeze or she’d beg, either of which would forfeit her life. But here she stood, talking. Able to say the words she’d learned to bite back years ago. He could very well pull that trigger in the next few seconds, end her and her child, end Amanda, and all she could think was… “I’m not dying afraid of you.”

He blinked, almost flinching, before the corners of his mouth turned white. “You should be.” He pushed the gun closer, his gaze unfocused a little. “He hated me when he died. He
hated
me.”

Christopher was dead? She almost asked the question in her surprise. It didn’t matter though. He wouldn’t have helped her even if he could. The gleam on the muzzle tempted her to look away from Malcolm’s deadly glare, but she couldn’t do it. Amanda was at the door now. Almost safe. And there was still so much to say.

“Whatever you came here to do, it won’t change anything. It won’t change Christopher. Or what you did to me. To everyone you’ve ever hurt.”

“Shut up,” he ordered through clenched teeth.

“All the mistakes you made and blamed on other people. All the people you punished for your pride—”

“I said,
shut up
!”

“No!” God, it was such a relief to say that to him. Even though he stalked closer, shoving the gun under her chin so hard it made her teeth slam against each other. She would not go to her grave letting him believe he’d crushed her.

“It won’t change you either,” she whispered, up close and personal. Because that’s where you had to be for the truth to slip under the ribs and strike true. “Even if I’m dead, you’ll still be the weak, useless excuse for a man you always were.”

His eyes narrowed, but for the first time, she saw something there besides his rage. His blame. Flickering like a dying flame, she saw
his
fear. At least there was that.

The bell above the door jostled. Malcolm’s attention shifted, the gun tearing away from her throat as Amanda yanked it open. Susie struck, the letter opener she’d kept in her hand since rising from the desk sinking into Malcolm’s forearm just as the gun went off.

Amanda’s scream was almost drowned out by the explosion of the front window into the street. Susie had just enough time to see Amanda dive through the door before Malcolm’s fist plowed into Susie’s face. She hit the ground hard, but she knew better than to stay there.

“Bitch!” Malcolm’s roar was followed by the sound of something metal clattering against the wall. She was almost to the red curtain when his foot landed on her shoulders, shoving her down and slamming the air out of her lungs. Twice more, his foot landed, stomping wherever he could reach, sending pain down her back and middle. Her lungs burned, straining to find the oxygen he’d knocked out of her. One more blow, as if he thought he could flatten her beneath his shoe. His hand grabbed the hair on the top of her head, yanking her up so she could see him as he put the gun to the middle of her forehead. “You’ve taken the last thing from me.”

She finally gasped in a breath, knowing it would be her last. Used it to voice the only regret she had left. “Locke—”

Her head wrenched back and the blast of the gun stole all her senses away.

Chapter Thirteen

His feet barely scraped the ground as he ran. Amanda scrambled through the door of the shop, already heading for him. It took everything to push her behind him without checking that she was all right first. He had to leave that to the other boys following him onto the street.

“Go!” he demanded when she looked like she might reach for him. “Go!”

He should have been more careful, knowing there was a loaded gun in there, but caution didn’t register. It couldn’t.
Susie’s in there.

Bursting through the door, he scanned for her, finding nothing. But a man was there, bending over something. Locke was already speeding for him, knocking past clothing racks, trying to get to her. He was too slow. Too
fucking
slow.

The bastard had her by the hair and the gun…

He stopped thinking, grabbing the guy by the neck and flinging him away from her, but it was too late. The gun went off, and Locke’s entire world narrowed to a single, heart-stopped point.

She lay crumpled on the ground.

Move, baby.

Rustling came from behind him, but if she was dead…he didn’t care.

Please, God,
move!

Her hand flattened to the ground, her shoulders tensing to lift her head. She turned, rolling onto her side, her eyes blinking slowly as if she couldn’t quite see through the tendrils of her own hair spilling across her face. Then they went wide, her hand stretching out in terror. “Locke!”

He turned, swiping the gun from behind his head with the back of his left hand. The other was already fisted, smashing into the face of her nightmares. Malcolm Hall stumbled, reeling into another rack before crashing into the ground. Locke followed, his mind silent. Cold.

This man had tried to kill her.

Their child.

His sister.

There could be no coming back from that.

The fool climbed back to his feet, attempting to point the gun again.

Locke wrapped his hand around the wrist gripping it, wrenching it back until the bone gave a sickening series of cracking noises. Hall dropped to his knees, screaming. At least he was until Locke hammered his fist into an already bloodied cheek. Again and again, his fist landed. All the while, the pictures he’d seen flashed in his mind.

Her eye, swollen into a purple mass.

Her lips, split and bleeding.

Her shoulder, the joint pulled completely out of place…

Injuries she never should have known.

Pain this pathetic bastard couldn’t take back.

But he would feel it. He would know what he had done, just a taste of it, before Locke removed him entirely from the world.

Except…

Trembling hands touched his arm, trying to hold him back.

Hands that needed him to stop.

That wanted him to.

He turned, arm still raised, to find her crouched beside him, tears streaming down her face. Blood trickled from her hairline, her mouth and nose, redness turning them both puffy.

“Stop, Locke,” she whispered. “He’s unconscious. He’s not going to hurt anyone anymore.”

It took him a second to realize he was breathing hard. That his fist was screaming from the impact of hitting this man until he was broken on the ground.

“Please,” she added, tugging at him.

Sanity came back slowly. Because she asked. Because she needed him.

Turning away from Hall, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her out of the store. People filled the street now, but he wasn’t aware of them. Not really. He looked for his brothers, for Amanda. Dean had her tucked to his side, Daniel just behind them, his hands in tight fists. All three of them watched him come closer. Then, as one, all of them came. Circling him, arms enclosing them both tight. No one spoke, though he heard Amanda choking back her sobs. He didn’t know how long they stood there, just holding on, heads bowed with emotions Locke couldn’t even begin to name.

So close. It had all been so close. One second later and he could have lost all three of them.

None of the family would have been able to survive that, not even Cole…

That thought brought him back to the necessary. Cole didn’t know what had just happened, though it felt like hours had gone by since their conversation. It was only minutes. Seconds…

Locke looked up, blinking in the bright daylight, trying to get his bearings. Townspeople were milling around, some on their cell phones, probably calling for help.

“Daniel,” he tried to say, but his voice was hoarse for some reason.

His brother looked up, jaw still clenched, waiting for something he could do. All that strength, probably as much anger as Locke had inside, but nowhere to empty it. Nowhere to direct it.

“Keep your eye on Hall until the police get here. If he so much as twitches…” He didn’t have to say it. They both knew Daniel would break the bastard’s fucking neck before he ever had a chance to get close to their family again. He wouldn’t lose a moment of sleep over it, either.

Daniel nodded, moving for the store. He’d watch Hall as long as it took. And if the other man got stomped a few times while Daniel was watching… Well, who would know?

Locke turned to Dean. “Help me get them upstairs.”

Another nod and his brother started hustling Amanda into the sporting goods store. One of Spencer’s kids opened the door for them, shutting it as Locke carried Susie inside.

“Lock it,” he ordered, looking around for his cousin. Spencer wasn’t hard to find, his kids in a crowd behind him. Obviously, he’d been keeping them out of sight in case there were more shots. The girls looked traumatized as it was. “No one comes in unless it’s a sheriff or the EMTs. No one, you understand me?”

Spencer nodded too, but his brows crashed together. “Locke, your hand—”

“I’ll be fine. Just get the paramedics here.”

Susie’s arms tightened, her face pressing into his neck at that. He lifted her higher, carrying her as close to his heart as he could. She didn’t want to be seen and he didn’t blame her. She was still shaking. Or was that him?

With Spencer’s agreement, Locke finally followed his siblings into the back room, to the stairs that led to the elder twins’ apartment. Dean had made quick work of clearing their futon couch and was dropping a comforter over it as Locke walked in. Amanda was already sitting in their recliner, a massive polar-fleece sports blanket wrapped tight around her. Gingerly, ignoring the growing fire in his hand, Locke laid Susie on the cushion. Dean came back with a pillow for her head, slipping it behind her as carefully as he could. Susie curled her legs up to her chest, rolling onto her side, eyes closed, lips pressed tight. Dean looked to him, but Locke didn’t have any answers. She seemed to be holding herself in.

He smoothed her hair off her face, careful not to touch the bruises already forming on her jaw. “Baby?”

She shook her head, balling up tighter.

“Susie, talk to me,” he whispered in her ear, the stillness of her scaring him almost as much as that last gunshot.

Her hand wrapped around his wrist, gripping so tight he knew she wasn’t just getting a hold on her emotions. She was in pain.

Option after option ran through his mind. The gunshot so close to her head. The blood on her hairline. Had something fallen on her? Or… “Is it the baby?”

She nodded on a keening cry.

No. No. Fucking
no
.

“Hold on, Susie. We’ll get you to the hospital. Just hold on.” He reached for his back pocket, too late realizing he’d dropped his phone when the Suite Shoppe’s window had exploded. “Dean, get a hold of Penelope Montenga. Tell her to meet us at the hospital. Amanda, you’re coming with us—”

“Locke!” Spencer called from below. “There’s ambulances outside.”