Page 156 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

I count my breaths to slow them. How many damn times will this fucking plan change in one night?

Chapter 48

SEAN

"FUCKING WHORE!"

The words splinter the air as I crouch beside the bathroom sink. More rustling, then a muffled scream.

I risk a glance through the cracked door.

Miller is out of bed, stalking toward the closet. He yanks it open to reveal a woman bound with zip ties and huddled in a corner. The gag in her mouth stifles her cries, and her fresh black eye does nothing to diminish her defiant expression. She's different from the other woman because her body still has plenty of muscle and fight.

She's someone he recently picked up.

He grips her hair and drags her into the room, her bare feet scraping the floor as she flails around.

"I'm trying to fucking sleep!" he shouts, shaking her like a ragdoll. "I have to be on set at five, so will you shut the fuck up?"

He slaps her hard, the sound cracking like gunfire, but she keeps fighting, screaming something unintelligible through the sock gag.

"What's with this attitude?" he sneers. "Don't you want out of the closet? If you'd stop being such a bitch, you'd get your own room like Debbie. Debbie knows how to fucking behave, so what's your problem?"

Another slap, and she whimpers, but still she struggles, a feral determination in her eyes.

She's doing exactly what you should do in a situation like this. Fighting offers a better chance at survival.

He's losing patience, though. I see it in the tightening of his jaw, the way his fingers twitch like they want something to squeeze. He throws her to the floor and straddles her, his weight pinning her down.

"You were a bad pick," he says coldly. "And I don't have the patience to train you. A shame."

His hands close around her throat, crushing her neck like he's juicing an orange. Her eyes bulge, and for a moment, all I can do is watch, paralyzed by the suddenness and the brutality.

Then I move, my heart pounding a relentless rhythm in my ears. I raise my gun with anticipation as I slip from the bathroom and cross the room silently.

Miller is so focused on the woman he doesn't register my presence until the barrel of the gun presses against the base of his skull.

"Get off her," I say, my voice a low, lethal whisper.

Miller startles, releasing the woman's throat and falling to the side with a yelp. A small, dark part of me is satisfied at his reaction.

He sprawls on the floor, staring up at me with wide, disbelieving eyes. "What, what the fuck are you… how?"

He recognizes me from our car chase two weeks ago. Good. Then he knows I'm fucking serious.

"Move," I say, nudging him with the gun and tipping my chin toward the bed. "Slowly."

He hesitates and glances around for an escape.

"Give me a reason to shoot you," I add. "Just one fucking reason."

His shoulders drop because he must know it's pointless to fight. He gets to his feet, hands raised, and backs toward the bed.

I turn my attention to the woman. Her breaths are ragged and shallow beneath the gag. With one hand still pointing the gun at Miller, my free hand yanks out my knife and slices through the zip ties trapping her. I pull the gag from her mouth, and she gasps.

"Thank… thank you." She lets out a sob and then tries to contain it. She doesn't wait for me to say more, doesn't risk another second in this nightmare. She scrambles to her feet and flees from the bedroom, the sound of her retreating footsteps echoing down the hall.

Miller watches her go and several dark shadows cross his expression. He turns back to me. "You think you can get away with this? You think I won't find you?"

---