Oh. My. God.
Claire tossed the hose into the sink. Her stomach twisted as the two men slugged it out. When would Hank get here? She’d pressed the panic alarm on the hostess stand five minutes ago. Dread made her body heavy. What if the Voice of Doom had cut the alarm?
The men crashed to the floor with a bang. The killer came out on top and pummeled Jake. Her heart stopped. It revved up again when Jake pushed the Voice of Doom off and assumed the dominant position. She couldn’t wait any longer.
She grabbed the first weapon she found—a heavy glass beer pitcher from the drying rack. The only problem? What in the hell was she supposed to do with it? If only she…
The gun.
Grunts and groans filled her ears. She dropped to her knees to find where the gun had fallen. Frantic, she felt along the floorboards. She cheered silently when she saw it near the bottom of the ice machine.
Exalted, she swiped it off the floor. She stood, spread her feet shoulder width apart and bent her knees slightly. The gun felt cold when she gripped the handle with both hands. Her first impulse was to shoot, but she couldn’t risk hitting Jake. She raised the gun toward the ceiling. Her heart hammered as she waited for the Voice of Doom to separate from Jake.
She hurried around to the front of the bar. The fighters seemed evenly matched. Jake was a bit bigger, but the maniac had enough meth-fueled crazy in him to negate the weight advantage. They grappled on the floor, turned into a small round table, knocked it down. The killer rolled on top of Jake, but he flipped the other man off his body and the men separated. Both breathing hard, they sized each other up like boxers at the beginning of the tenth round.
Doubt seized her. The gun trembled in her hands. What if she missed? What if she hit Jake instead? Her heart pounded in her ears. There may not be another chance. She had to do it now.
Claire lowered the gun and aimed at the Voice of Doom. Willing her hands to calm, she eased the trigger back. The gun cracked to life and bounced her arms back.
The killer shrieked. A warm serenity soaked through her body as blood spread across the seat of his jeans. She’d hit him in the ass.
It was just a flesh wound so the danger he posed wasn’t past. They couldn’t afford for him to realize she wasn’t as cool and collected as she pretended.
“You bitch! You shot me!”
Bile rose in her throat. She’d gone hunting with her father as a girl, but she’d never hit anything. Now she’d shot a human being. Sure, he was a tweaked-out psychopath, but still she’d pulled the trigger and put a bullet in a person. The reality of it all made her nauseous. Counting to twenty, she pushed back her inner turmoil into a closet in her mind. She slammed the mental door shut. She’d deal with it later.
“You.” She continued to aim the gun at her human target. “Hands on your head.” Isn’t that what they always said on TV?
He shot her a scathing look, rolled to his stomach and intertwined his fingers behind his head. “This is not right. Why is everyone so against me?”
“I don’t think anyone is particularly thrilled with you right now.” She pressed back against the bar for support, worried her shaky legs wouldn’t hold out much longer.
Jake stood guard over him. “We need to tie him up. Anything handy nearby?”
“Suzie’s got a bar apron back here. Why don’t you use that to tie his hands behind him?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jake kissed her on the top of her head and walked behind the bar to search for the apron.
Her stomach calmed somewhat, but her arms began to ache unbearably. Who knew guns could get so heavy, so fast?
“Got it.” Jake came back around, trussed up the man’s feet and wrists and reached for his cellphone. He leaned down and whispered something in the killer’s ear.
She couldn’t hear the words, but they must have had their desired effect. Jake stood and laughed, a cold sound masquerading as humor. The man’s body stiffened.
Claire lowered the gun to the bar and sank onto a stool. Her stomach twisted and cramped. She laid her head down on the dark wood. The cool surface calmed her riotous nerves, gave her a chance to think for a moment. She’d made the right move. Really, she never had another choice.
Sirens cried in the distance. With a relieved sigh, she slid off the stool. Her knees shook a bit, but she maintained her somewhat wobbly stance. She’d always heard it seemed like forever for law enforcement to respond. Now she understood what that meant.
“You okay? You’re not looking so hot.” Jake tilted his head.
Now was not the time to flake out. She’d have plenty of time for that when she finally made it home.
She tried to look reassuring, but her calmness wavered. “It’s over.”
“Ha!” the killer croaked from the floor. “You have no idea what you’re in for now, Honey Child. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be laying—”
Jake ended the tirade with a kick to the psycho’s stomach. Though bloody and battered, the killer looked…happy. His face lit by some evil inner light, he looked like someone who taunts you because he knows the best secret in the world but has no intention of sharing it.
“Honey, just look at your choice of lovers to know all is not right with your world. They always leave you in the end. Always.”
His maniacal laugh made her take an involuntary step back. Her throat constricted.
“I should have killed you last night at the house. I’d have saved you a lot of heartbreak. Literally.”
Jake squatted down and slammed his fist into the Voice of Doom’s face, silencing the killer.
Did you miss part of Dangerous Kiss? Catch up here. xoxo, Avery
