Page 100 of Inked Desires
His smug tone, the dominant stance—everything about him makes me want to crush him into dust. My body reacts before my brain can even give the order.
“Get down, Andrew!” I shout as I hurl myself at him.
The impact knocks him off balance. The gun ends up trapped between us, our bodies struggling to gain control. I try to wrench it from him, but he holds on. So I hit him—my knee slams into his shin. He stumbles, grabs my shirt, and drags us both to the floor.
I land on top. I recover just in time to slam my fist into his face. I need to keep him down, buy enough time for Andrew to get away. He’s been through enough. Jace is never getting near him again.
I glance back. Andrew is gone. Relief rushes through me.
Then a gunshot rings out.
Everything freezes.
I look down.
A gaping hole in my chest.
Shit.
He got me.
A guttural laugh bubbles out of him, full of satisfaction and revenge. Then the pain hits—raw, tearing, blazing. I grit my teeth, struggling to stay upright. My trembling hand grips his throat, my fingers trying to crush the life out of him.
My vision blurs. My strength fades.
Then I fall backward.
Air explodes from my lungs. My hand slips from his neck. But the barrel of his gun is now pressed to my temple.
“You really thought you could play the hero?”
Jace’s voice oozes disdain. His eyes gleam with sick joy. He tightens his grip around my throat, leans in closer.
“He’s not even worth it. You’re gonna die for a little slut, asshole.”
I spit in his face.
“I’ll be waiting for you in hell,” I whisper.
A scream slices through the air. A blur of black curls flashes above me, and suddenly, Jace’s crushing weight is gone.
I push myself up with effort, gasping.
Andrew is on top of him, a knife in hand, stabbing over and over, a storm of uncontrollable rage driving each blow.
Fuck.
Jace tries to fight back, but it’s already too late. Andrew doesn’t stop. He stabs again and again, eyes wild and lost in a blind frenzy.
Pain explodes in my chest, dragging me back to my own body, my own reality. I look down. The blood is pouring out too fast. Far too fast.
I’m going to die.
A metallic glint catches my eye. Jace’s revolver lies abandoned on the ground, forgotten in the struggle. Gritting my teeth, I crawl toward it, every movement a scream of agony.
“Baby… get off him,” I whisper.
Andrew doesn’t hear me. He keeps going like his life depends on it.
