Page 29 of Fury
"Two minutes," he promises. "Just hold on."
Richard hits the door again, and this time I hear wood splintering. One more good hit and he'll be through.
"Last chance, Olivia," he calls. "Open the door, or I break it down and things get very unpleasant for you."
I grip the gun tighter, raising it toward the door. "Stay back!" I shout, surprised by the steadiness in my voice. "I'm armed!"
A pause, then laughter, cold and utterly devoid of humor. "With what? That little gun you waved at me at the gate? Do you even know how to use it, princess?"
The mockery in his voice ignites something in me, a fury that burns away the fear. This man has terrorized me, hunted me, forced me to run and hide.
No more.
"My father made sure all his children could protect themselves," I call back, moving to a better position with clear sight of the door. "I've been shooting since I was twelve."
"Then you should know." His voice is closer now, just on the other side of the splintering wood, "that most people hesitate. Especially pretty little girls who've never faced real violence."
The door explodes inward, the table flying across the room. Richard stands in the doorway, a tall man with dead eyes and a cruel smile. In one hand he holds a crowbar, in the other, a gun far larger than mine.
I don't hesitate. I squeeze the trigger.
The shot goes wide, hitting the doorframe instead of him. He ducks, laughing as he advances into the cabin.
"See? Hesitation." He raises his own weapon. "I won't make the same mistake."
I fire again, and this time my bullet grazes his arm. He hisses in pain but keeps coming.
"You bitch," he snarls, all pretense of civility gone. "I was going to be gentle with you."
I back up until I hit the wall, nowhere left to go. My phone has fallen somewhere in the chaos, but I can still hear Greyson's voice calling my name.
Richard raises the crowbar, and I know in that moment he intends to beat me into submission. I won't give him the chance. I steady my aim and fire a third time.
This shot catches him in the shoulder, spinning him halfway around. He roars with pain and rage, dropping the crowbar but maintaining his grip on the gun.
"You're going to pay for that," he promises, blood soaking his shirt. "Every day for the rest of your life."
Before I can fire again, he lunges, faster than I would have thought possible for an injured man. His weight slams into me, knocking my gun from my hand. We crash to the floor, his body pinning mine, his blood hot and sticky between us.
His hands find my throat, squeezing with brutal force. I claw at his face, my nails drawing blood across his cheek. The world starts to darken at the edges as I struggle for air.
No. I won't die like this. I won't let him win.
I bring my knee up hard between his legs. His grip loosens just enough for me to gasp a breath and twist my body. We roll across the dusty floor, fighting for dominance. He's stronger, but I'm fighting for my life.
My fingers find something solid—the crowbar he dropped. I grip it and swing with all my strength.
Metal connects with bone with a sickening crack. Richard howls, blood pouring from a gash in his forehead. I scramble away, still clutching the crowbar, my throat burning as I gulp in air.
He staggers to his feet, one hand pressed to his bleeding head, the other still holding his gun. His eyes, when they focus on me, are filled with murderous hatred.
"I'm going to kill you slowly," he promises, raising the weapon.
The sound of motorcycles roaring up to the cabin barely registers through the blood pounding in my ears. All I see is the barrel of his gun pointing at my heart.
I don't think. I react. The crowbar flies from my hand with deadly accuracy, striking his wrist just as he pulls the trigger. The gun discharges into the ceiling as it falls from his grip.
The door bursts open, and suddenly the small cabin is filled with leather-clad men. Greyson is the first through, his face a mask of cold fury as he takes in the scene—me bloodied and bruised, Richard staggering and wounded.
