Deep Wood

As much as I hate giving the bastard credit for anything, he’s right again. I do love her. I love her more than life itself. But also know that if I do something rash, and he shoots me, there won’t be anyone left to stop him from killing Norah.

Brody chuckles, a harsh, scratchy sound that makes my blood curdle. “Wake up, man. You don’t actually think she gives two shits about you. You’re just a means to an end. A loose end.” He touches the barrel, slick with Norah’s saliva, to her temple. “I’m sorry it has to end like this, Nor. I mean that.”

I expect her eyes to fill with terror, but all I find is renewed determination. She meets my gaze, a look of urgency creeping across her features, as her hand slinks out from behind her back.

The paring knife glints in her fist. This time, my smart girl came prepared.

All she needs is a distraction.

“You know as soon as you shoot her, I’m gonna wrestle that gun from you and pump your scrawny ass so full of bullets, you’ll be more lead than meat.”

His sneer twists into a snarl. “That’s assuming you’re fast enough, old man.”

“Maybe I’m not.” I stare him down. “But is that a chance you’re willing to take?”

I can see the wheels turning behind his ugly mug as he weighs the threat in front of him. Clearly, I’m the one he should be wary of. Not Norah. Not his obedient little doll.

He swings the gun in the direction of my face. At that same moment, Norah plunges the knife into Brody’s stomach.

The gun goes off.

Ringing fills my ears, but it only takes half a second to realize I’m not shot.

And in that instant, I charge.

I slam into Brody, taking him down a

nd forcing the knife deeper into his gut. He howls.

“Norah, run!” I shout. She heads for the bedroom, probably to call 911.

I grab Brody’s wrist and try to slam the Glock out of his hand. Something hard makes contact with the side of my head—a hunk of firewood. My temple throbs.

“Mother...fucker,” he blubbers, blood leaking from his mouth. I right hook his jaw, sending at least one tooth flying. My hand slips on his wrist, giving him a chance to smash the other side of my head with the butt of his gun.

I wince as pain blurs my vision. He wrestles until he’s on top of me, blood dripping from his battered gob. The barrel touches my brow.

“If I...can’t...have her,” he chokes out, “Neither...can...you.”

An explosion shakes the room. Brody’s body jerks and then collapses.

I take a second to catch my breath, then shove his limp ass onto the hardwood. Whatever blood not soaked up by my pants and shirt now pools on the floor. As I push myself up, I can see that Brody’s entire right side’s been blown out.

“Is he dead?” I look to the bedroom doorway, and there stands Norah—my little girl, my love—wielding a Chekov’s Marlin 1895 hunting rifle.

“Yeah, baby.” I approach her slowly. “He’s gone.”

I reach out to take the rifle, but her grip is firm. She’s still staring at Brody’s lifeless body like it’s about to reanimate and attack her. I step between her and Brody’s corpse, cupping her chin in my palm.

“It’s okay, baby girl. You can let go of the gun now. The bad man is gone.”

Chapter Eleven

Norah

Silas holds me while he calls the sheriff’s office, and doesn’t let go all throughout the interview—not even when the sheriff’s deputy threatens to arrest him. I tell them everything. About the bank robbery and my dad and Brody’s abuse.

They say they’ll be in touch with the Baltimore Police Department, but allow me to stay with Silas as long as I promise not to skip town.