Page 35 of Savage Truth

“Don’t move.”

“Fuck you!” I needed to know. I pressed my fingers against Cole’s neck, frantically feeling for a pulse. I felt it beat against the pads of my fingers and sagged back in relief.

Nick—there was no way I was referring to him as “Dad” even in my head—kicked at my foot, and I pulled my legs up. Then I noticed the gun. I scrambled to the right and angled my body to block as much of Cole as possible.

The gun stayed steady as he tossed a phone at me. I caught it out of reflex.

“Call your mother. Tell her Daddy’s home.” His tone was mocking and cold.

“Gross. I just threw up in my mouth.” The flash of lightning gave me a frightening glimpse of his lack of amusement. I didn’t care. He was disgusting, and it was much easier to fall into sarcasm than to allow the fear to take hold again.

But one good thing came from the added light. I saw the trail of blood on the side of his neck from where I’d punctured the skin with the pen. Good. I hoped it hurt like hell. And we looked nothing alike. I was never happier to look like a carbon copy of Mom. I wanted nothing notably genetic from the killer threatening me.

I angled the phone so he couldn’t see and pressed 911 but faked hitting a few more numbers as if I was calling Mom.He must think I’m an idiot—he didn’t make me put the call on speaker.Guess he’s the idiot.

There was no way I would call Mom. He would kill her. So I guessed he would have to kill me instead. The operator answered, and I infused as much fear in my voice as I could. It wasn’t hard. I was scared out of my mind.

“Mom,” I said over the operator, “Dad’s here. He has a gun. He wants you to come home right away.” I waited for a beat as if she’d said something. “No, I’m not at the rental. I came back to the Savages’ place on Riverhill Drive. Hurry, Mom. He hurt Cole.” I hung up but didn’t hand the phone back until he held out his hand for it.

I tossed it, not wanting to touch him. He pressed a button on his phone then advanced. I cringed back, not knowing what he would do. Then pain exploded across my face with his backhand slap. I fell to my side, my head whipping back from the force of his hit. As he straightened, pointing the gun at Cole, I screamed.

Cole launched himself from a prone position so quickly that I could barely track him. He plowed into Nick, and the gun went off with an ear-ringing blast. Something shattered. They went down. Cole knocked the weapon away. It clattered across the marble floor, and I jumped to my feet and dashed for it.

They rolled around, punching each other. One second Cole had the upper hand, then Nick. My fingers curled around the gun. The heavy weight felt right in my hand, and everything in me settled.

“Stop!” I screamed at them. When they didn’t listen, I aimed at the ceiling and squeezed the trigger. Water rained down on us. I must have hit a pipe. I didn’t care. All that mattered was ending this.

Cole stood over Nick. He moved to the left when he saw what I held, so I had a clear shot. I aimed as red-and-blue lights flashed through the windows. The door burst open.

My hand never wavered as I pointed the barrel at Nick. It would have been so easy to shoot. I wouldn’t have to worry about looking over my shoulder again. Mom would be safe. We wouldn’t have to move all the time.

I didn’t want the cops there. I could hear them talking to me as if I was underwater. They were telling me to be calm, to put the gun down. But if I didn’t shoot, it would never end.He’ll never stop coming for us. It’s the only way to be safe.

Cole was at my side. The heat of his body radiated into my chilled flesh. His hand slid down my arm to the gun in a soothing caress, and I whimpered at how gentle it was. “Let go, Riley. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

“But I won’t be.”Doesn’t he see? It’s the only way.

“You’ll go to jail.” His lips were at my ear, whispering, “And I don’t want to lose you like that.”

He took the gun.

It was over.

For now.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

COLE

Iwas furious. At my dad. At Riley’s mom. At that motherfucker who’d broken into the house. At the goddammed concussion from that asshole, Nick Viareggio, pistol-whipping me with the butt of his gun. The head injury, though mild, would keep me out of practice and games for the next few weeks. I’d learned his name when the cops arrived.

But most of all, rage simmered inside me at the danger Riley had been in.

The rain had stopped, but clouds remained. Humidity hung in the air as densely as everyone’s lousy mood in the car. It was Thursday morning, and we were on our way home from the hospital, where Riley and I had gotten checked out. Dad and a very shaken Raelyn were in the front seat. No one spoke.

It was eerie as hell. Riley sat beside me, tightly clenching her hands in her lap, staring straight ahead. She’d answered questions from the police and the doctor, but she hadn’t said much else. I didn’t like it. Something was going on, and I suspected it went beyond the incident with Nick.

The doctors had checked her and found her uninjured aside from the bruise on her cheek from Nick’s backhand, but when she looked at me or anyone else, it was like she didn’t see anything.

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