Page 76 of Keeping Kasey
I can only stare into Brandon’s frenzied gaze as dread pools in my gut.
This man is going to kill me.
I don’t even have the courage to close my eyes and go to a happy place. All I can do is lock my stare with his and pray for a miracle.
That’s when the doorknob twists.
Ford’s shout is muffled, but my heart pounds too loudly in my ears for me to make out his words anyway.
When neither Brandon nor I answer, I’m so thankful to hear Ford kicking at the door.
Knowing his time is limited, Brandon smacks the gun against my head—hard. I feel my skin split with a force that blurs my vision.
“Does Consoli know who you are?” He emphasizes the question by digging the gun into the freshly inflicted gash, and I cry out at the burning sensation.
Just then, the door is kicked in, and my eyes flood with a new wave of tears. Brandon blocks my view of the doorway, so I can’t see Ford.
I also can’t see Brandon lift the gun—I only hear the shot echo in the small room with a cutting force.
All relief turns to purified horror.
Brandon shoves me to the floor like I’m a rag doll. “Stay down. We’re about to go for a drive, and then you’ll give me the answers I want.”
He towers over Ford, who lies on his back, holding the wound in his stomach with both hands.
I don’t think, or even fully process what I’m doing, but when I see the rolling chair within my reach, I just act.
I shove it forward with all my strength, and it rams into Brandon with a force that distracts him just long enough for Ford to do a kicking maneuver that gets Brandon off balance. He goes down, falling toward me. What I lack in self-defense skills, I make up for in sheer will to live as I lunge forward and rip the gun from Brandon’s grasp just as he hits the floor.
The moment the weapon is in my hands, I realize I haveno ideawhat to do with it.
I point it at Brandon and pull the trigger, but nothing happens.
What the—
Brandon’s confusion turns to amusement, and he starts to stand. I have no idea where the thought comes from—likely the hundreds of action movies I’ve seen in my lifetime—but the idea to cock the gun hits me, and I do. The jammed bullet pops out of the chamber, and I hold the gun as steady as I can.
Brandon stops, narrowing his eyes from where he kneels in front of me. Somehow, even as I stand over him with a gun in my hands, he manages to make me feel small.
“He has no idea, does he?” A truly manic smile spreads over Brandon’s lips. “Consoli will find out you’re a traitor, and he’ll kill you.”
It happens so fast.
My hesitation registers with Brandon, who takes the opportunity to spring forward.
I pull the trigger.
The bullet flies straight through his chest, and a spray of blood wets my face and arms in an instant. The sensation—the warm splatter of thick blood decorating my cheeks, my nose, even my eyelids—engraves itself in my bones, and I already know that it won’t ever go away.
Just before Brandon goes down, he manages to shove me with all his remaining strength.
I don’t remember dropping the gun, only that by the time I stumble back into the wall—slamming my head into the exposed brick—it’s not in my hands anymore. My vision goes dark, and I strain to blink back to reality. The urge to lie back and close my eyes is tempting, and the only reason I fight against it is the strained breaths from across the room that are growing weaker.
Darkness threatens my already hazy vision, and after a few seconds of anticipating another blow, I process those images. It takes a moment, but I finally make out Brandon’s body collapsed onto the floor a few feet away.
He must have gone down right after he shoved me.
I have to force myself to ignore the muscle-locking fear and the revulsion that crawls over my skin like a million ants—I have to get to Jace. Slowly, I push off the wall and move around Brandon, all the while bracing for him to spring up and lunge for me again.
