Page 70 of Welded Defender
He laughs—sharp and bitter. “Oh, I suppose you think she’s yours then?”
“She doesn’t belong to anyone,” I say. “She’s her own person. Makes her own choices.”
Something flickers behind Brett’s eyes—a twitch at the corner of his mouth. For half a heartbeat, his grip on the gun loosens. Then his jaw locks, tendons standing out in his neckas he raises the gun a fraction higher, centering it on the space between my eyes.
“Then why are you standing in front of her?” He cocks his head. “If she’s so strong on her own, why does she need you to stand between us?”
I narrow my eyes until they’re just slits, the fluorescent lights burning white spots in my vision. “I stand here because I love her.” The words scrape my dry throat, raw and honest. “That’s all there is to it. And I won’t let you hurt the woman I love.”
Brett’s upper lip curls back like a rabid dog’s. “Love?” The word drips from his mouth like poison. “What does a grease-stained redneck like you know about it?” He lifts the gun higher, the black hole of the barrel expanding until it seems to swallow all the light in the room. “Move now. Or I’ll make you move.”
I plant my feet wider on the concrete, feeling the cold seep through my boots. “I’m not moving.”
“Landon—” Marcy’s fingers clutch at my jacket, her voice breaking as she tries to pull herself around me, but I press my arm back, pinning her safely behind my body.
“I’m not moving,” I repeat, each word a stone wall between her and Brett.
Brett’s shoulders rise and fall with one deep breath. His mouth twitches into something almost like a smile. “Then I guess you made your choice.”
The shot cracks through the air like thunder in a closed room.
Marcy screams. The impact slams into my chest like a sledgehammer. The world spins. My knees buckle, concrete rushing up to meet me. My ears ring, drowning out everything but the roar of blood.
I hit the floor hard. Pain sears white-hot, then turns icy. My vision tunnels, but I force my eyes open.
Marcy is already there, dropping to her knees beside me, hands pressing against the wound, trying to stop what can’t bestopped with bare palms. Her face is ghost-pale, streaked with terror.
“Landon—oh God—no, no, no?—”
“I’m fine,” I rasp, though we both know it’s a lie. I grab her wrist, desperate to anchor her here with me. “Don’t—don’t let him?—”
Brett steps closer, gun still in hand. His shadow falls across us both. When he speaks, his voice is a low growl. “Get up, Marcy. We’re leaving.”
She shakes her head, trembling but fierce. Her tear-streaked face hardens into something unbreakable. Her body angles protectively in front of mine, one knee pressed into the cold concrete, her flannel shirt darkening where my blood seeps into the fabric. “No.”
"You don't get a choice," he snaps. His face contorts, nostrils flaring, a thick vein throbbing at his temple. "You can come willing, or I can drag you out."
He takes another step forward, his boot scraping against concrete, the gun barrel swinging toward Marcy's chest.
I try to push myself up, but white-hot pain shoots through my shoulder and races down my spine. My fingers claw desperately at the floor, leaving bloody streaks across the concrete. All I can manage is to reach for her, my hand finding her arm with what little strength I have left, my thumb brushing over the small freckle I kissed just last night.
"Don't you dare touch her," I snarl through clenched teeth, even as darkness creeps in from the edges of my vision.
Brett's lips twist into a cruel smile. "Too late, hero."
CHAPTER 39
Marcy
Istare down at Landon, at the dark crimson pool spreading beneath him like spilled wine. Blood seeps between my trembling fingers as I press them against the ragged hole in his chest—hot, slick, relentless. The copper tang fills my nostrils.
I can feel the barrel of Brett’s gun trained on me, but I can’t bring myself to look at it.
“Landon—” His name catches in my throat. I blink furiously, trying to clear the hot tears blurring his face. His skin has gone the color of wet cement, lips already tinged blue at the edges.
Brett steps closer, his shadow falling across Landon’s face. “Get away from him,” he snarls, spittle flying from his mouth. The gun barrel glints dully under the fluorescent lights. “Come with me now, Marcy. Or I swear to God, I’ll finish what I started.”
I freeze, torn between Landon’s ragged breath warming my blood-slicked palm and the black eye of the gun barrel tracking my every movement. My throat closes, dry as sandpaper.
