Page 84 of The Anchor Holds

“If only I had the sense to come to this interaction armed,” I muttered, noting that the gunfire had slowed down. How many shots was it? Seven? Likely, they were out of ammo. Therefore, probably using a handgun. If they were using a shotgun, there’d be more pauses while they reloaded, and I’d be without a large chunk of my arm instead of what I figured was just a graze.

Even just a graze from a bullet hurt like hell. I focused on the pain to stay present, the firm angle of Elliot’s jaw, the determined look in his eye, and the lack of bullets that had landed in his body.

When we made it back to the house, he sprinted through the door, slamming it closed behind us before crouching down low in the living room.

No windows shattered, and no shrill gunshots sounded as Elliot jostled me in his arms, not letting me go as he called 911.

I listened to him give a calm rundown of the situation while his eyes darted to the windows and doors, as if he was expecting someone wielding a gun to burst in at any second.

I tried to slow down my erratic breathing. My own body was in fight-or-flight mode, heart thundering and pissed that I didn’t have any kind of weapon myself. Though I’d been aware of my situation when I moved here, I hadn’t thought it wasnecessary to travel around town armed. That would do nothing but alert my already suspicious brother. I’d operated under the assumption that the organization I was tangled with was not overt or stupid enough to come at me with obvious violence. In a town as small as Jupiter, doing so would cause a splash, elicit attention. Those people liked to fly under the radar.

Yet it was obvious that I had been naive. Or they were losing their patience.

It was very possible we could die here, if the shooter was really determined or if there was more than one.

Chills raced down my spine, thinking about whether the shooter was there for me. If yes, it would likely be a highly trained, motivated killer or team of killers with ties to organized crime.

It might’ve even been Jasper.

No… If he was tasked with killing me, he wouldn’t do it like that. Nor would he miss. Though I’d resolutely believed up until recently that Jasper would never be involved in anything that caused me harm.

Right then, I wasn’t so sure.

“You need to go into the closet and lock the door.” Elliot ripped his eyes away from the various entry points to look at me, then my arm, which was steadily dripping blood on the rug. Not enough to be concerned about. Enough to have to buy a new rug, though.

He didn’t skip a beat, ripping his sweater. He then tore at his tee underneath to grab a scrap of fabric, tying it around my upper arm with practiced ease and confidence.

I didn’t wince at the agony I felt as he tightened the makeshift bandage to presumably staunch the flow of blood.

“Don’t have time to get to the first aid kit right now,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You get in the closet.”

“I’m not going to hide in the fucking closet while you stay out here and try to take on an armed offender with what, your boyish charm?” I knew snapping at him was unfair given the circumstances, but I had to do something to cover the absolute terror overwhelming me at the thought of something happening to Elliot because of me.

His family just managed to breathe again; they were going to be happy. I was not going to be the cause of them suffering again.

Elliot’s face was a mask of fury as an air of menace overcame his whole being, a violence that I didn’t think he was capable of embodying.

“If you’re here, I’ll be worrying about something happening to you instead of taking apart the fucker who made you bleed with my bare hands.” His nostrils flared. “Go. To. The. Fucking. Closet.”

His command was filled with desperation and rage. I almost obeyed him out of fear. Fear for Elliot, who I hadn’t thought I’d have the occasion to be afraid of. Yet he was fearsome then.

Instead, I jutted up my chin. “No. If this is going to be my end, I’ll not be doing it hiding in a closet. I’ll be doing it fighting for you.”

I struggled out of his grip. Doing so forcibly was the only way he’d let me go, yet I was rewarded with a stabbing pain radiating through my arm as I did so.

Elliot almost ground his teeth to dust, his jaw visibly tightening while watching me. I knew he was considering making me go bodily, he was that desperate. Angry. Dangerous. I could feel it radiating from him, a fierceness I hadn’t fathomed him capable of.

“Fuck!” His roar was so loud and uncontrolled, I flinched.

Me.

I hadn’t even flinched when I’d gotten shot, yet doing so when the most even-keeled person I’d encountered had an outburst of pure fury and frustration.

He crossed the distance between us then pushed me behind him, as if he wanted to fuse me there.

“You’re behind me at all times,” he ordered, voice gruff, eyes trained on the front door.

“I don’t cower behind men I care about, using them as a human shield.” I moved to stand at his side. “I’mbesideyou at all times.”

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