Page 87 of Keeping Guard
The man looked puzzled. “Get on what?”
“The wedding, idiot.”
“Oh. Right. Ahem, dearly beloved, we are here today—”
“I’m not marrying this jerk!” Peyton screamed. Was this even legal? She was pretty sure the law required two witnesses. Knowing Dalton, he’d probably forge the witness signatures. But she wasn’t taking a chance on whether or not any of this was legal.
“If the lady doesn’t want to get married, I can’t force her,” the man said.
Peyton wholeheartedly agreed.
“Hey, now,” the man said, his eyes going wide when Dalton pointed a gun at his head. “Put that thing away before you hurt someone.”
Dalton kept the gun pointed at the magistrate. “Finish the damn ceremony.”
It was now or never, before she ended up married to the biggest jerk in the world. She slid her hand down the inside of her shorts and wrapped her fingers around the coat hanger stick.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join...” Bleary eyes peered at her. “What’s your name, dear?”
“Well, in about ten seconds, Dalton here is going to call me bitch, so feel free to go with that.” She tightened her grip on the stick, then pulled it up and out. Before Dalton realized she had a weapon, she aimed the pointy end at his junk and slammed the stick into him with all her strength.
“Bitch!” Dalton yelled as he doubled over. Unfortunately, he didn’t drop the gun.
She didn’t have time to take satisfaction in her perfect aim or that she’d called it. Yep, she was a bitch, and at the moment, proud of it. But there was still the matter of the gun that he was now raising toward her. She brought the stick up again, then slammed it down on his hand as hard as she could.
The gun fell between them, and they both dived for it. She got her hand on it first, but Dalton slapped his hand over hers. He got the gun away and pointed it at her as she backed up.
She stared into the barrel of the gun and knew she was going to die without ever seeing Noah again. That pissed her off. She saw in Dalton’s eyes that he was past reasoning with, and she fell to the floor as a bullet whizzed past her head. That was a sound she never wanted to hear again for as long as she lived.
Having nothing to lose, she pulled the hanger hook from her pocket as she rolled toward him. If it was she last thing in her life she did, she was going to make him sorry for what he was trying to do to her and her father. She raised the hook, intending to rake it down whatever part of his body she could reach. She wanted to see him bleed.
Instead, it caught the trigger guard of the gun, and the gun fell to the floor between them. They both dived for it again, and miraculously, she got to it first. Before she could get away with the gun, Dalton’s hand slammed down on hers. He squeezed her hand so hard that pain shot up her arm, but she refused to let go. He was furious enough now to shoot her if he got it away.
Desperate, she clamped her teeth down on his hand. He grunted and his grip loosened, and she had possession of the gun. Dalton looked at her with hate in his eyes, then he lunged at her. She had no idea how it happened, but the gun went off, and she was so startled that she almost dropped it.
Dalton screamed as he wrapped his hands around the tip of his shoe. “My toe! You shot my fucking toe off.”
“Oops.” Not wasting her chance to get away, she held on to the gun as she scooted backward until she hit the wall. Her heart was pounding against her chest, and she gulped air into her lungs. She stared at her hand. She’d never held a gun before, didn’t want to be holding one now. What was she supposed to do with it?
“Peyton?”
She glanced up, relief slamming through her at seeing Noah. “Um, hi there.” She turned her attention to the gun in her shaking hand. “Ah...you want this?” Please want it before she shot someone else’s toe off.
“Yeah, princess, I’ll take it. Just keep it pointed at the floor while I come get it, okay?”
She nodded. She could do that. He kneeled at her side, and she almost giggled that he was keeping well out of range of the gun’s muzzle. Couldn’t blame him for that, nor did she want to see him lose any toes because of her.
He wrapped his fingers around the barrel. “I got it, baby. You can let go now.”
“O...okay.” She wanted to, she really did, but her fingers refused to cooperate.
Apparently realizing that her hands were frozen in their grip position—hopefully not permanently because that would suck—he brushed his lips over hers. “Put your hands on my face, princess.”
Yes, that was a much better place for her hands than the hard metal of a gun. Her hands agreed and after letting go of the gun, moved themselves to Noah’s face. She sighed. Noah was here, and she wasn’t marrying Dalton. Good, that was good.
The gun disappeared from sight, and he put his arm around her back, lifting her to her feet. Dalton’s screams penetrated her fuzzy mind. How long had she tuned out, not even hearing him?
“I shot his toe off.”
