“Fuck it.” I aim and squeeze the trigger. Twice. The first bullet sails past him, but the second goes through the back of his thigh, taking him down.
I close the distance between us, determined to take this motherfucker out permanently. My gaze is laser-focused. I replay the image of Nogales tightening that rope around Kelsey’s neck while Santos fucked her. I aim again and wrap my finger around the trigger, letting out a deep breath before I squeeze.
“Get the fuck up! Now!”
That voice belongs to Hector, and I look up. Our eyes connect, and for a quick flash of a moment, I see pure fear in his eyes.
“Nogales, come the fuck on!”
He gets up, but my focus is no longer on the VP, not when I have the man I really want right in my sights. My gun swivels from Nogales and his running form toward the black SUV with Hector behind the wheel. I take aim and squeeze the trigger until my magazine is empty.
Another bullet hits Nogales in the same leg. He falls down again but gets up quickly, dragging his injured leg behind him. I reload and pepper the SUV with bullets, feeling little satisfaction when one bullet hits Santos in the shoulder.
Nogales has one foot inside the SUV when it takes off, and even though it’s fruitless, I keep firing. The back window shatters. A tire is hit, wobbling and twisting the car on the gravel road. A headlight explodes. The car skids left and then right, moving erratically until Santos manages to straighten it and hit the gas.
“Fuck!” That motherfucker gets away, and I feel even more like shit. Kelsey is mine to protect, and I failed her. Twice now.
No more.
No fucking more.
Never again.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kelsey
Isn’t it amazing how just staring at the ocean can soothe almost any ache? Calm almost any fear?
For the past week, I’ve taken up residence either on Coop’s back porch or the small, seated window just off the kitchen. I spend most days just staring out at the blue, sometimes bluish-green ocean. The hypnotic, almost intoxicating ebb and flow of the waves calm my racing heart.
It’s not just the ocean. To be fair, it’s not just the man either. Coop is great. He’s wonderful, but the truth is I can’t face my family after everything I’ve been through. Hell, I can’t face anybody.
How can I look Daddy in the eyes after what’s happened to me? How can I stand to be around Kenna when she told me, repeatedly, that this exact thing—or worse—was going to happen to me? I can’t, but I can stay here with Coop, judgment-free.
And that asshole Santos lied to me. He said Coop would look at me with disgust. He doesn’t. He looks at me with sadness in his eyes.
I’m pretty sure he feels guilty that he couldn’t stop it from happening to me. Maybe he just pities me, or maybe this is some type of biker code, him nursing me back to health before we both go our separate ways. Maybe Coop has his own reasons, but I’m too afraid to ask. Either that, or I just don’t want to hear the truth.
“Hey.”
Coop’s big body comes to a stop behind me, and I can feel his gaze on me instead of the gorgeous ocean beyond the window or the clear blue skies.
“Hey,” I shoot back, almost on auto-pilot.
“I made you an espresso, but you have to eat something with it.” There’s a smile in his voice, but when I turn around, I see his eyes clouded with concern.
Worry. Concern. Exactly the things I don’t want to see in the eyes of the man I love. I hate seeing all that anguish stealing some of the blue from his eyes, but no matter how I try, I can’t shake the way I feel. I can’t just bounce back from the horror of that night. I’ve tried.
I talk to my therapist on the phone at least once a day because I haven’t been able to leave the house. I make every effort to push it all down and forget it ever happened, even though my therapist warns that can have worse effects on my psyche. Nothing I do changes how I feel. Nothing changes my inability to get past that day.
I’m empty. Just a shell of the person I used to be. Hollow on the inside. I can’t sleep through the night without waking up every hour, screaming in fear and terror, covered in sweat. I can’t eat more than a few bites without the scent of Nogales’ cock, his musty balls invading my senses. My brain.
Just a hot fucking mess But, I’ll heal. It might take longer than I want it to, but it will happen.
Coop stands there, staring at me, and I push off the seat like a zombie, letting him guide me to the kitchen because the feel of his big, hot hand is the only thing that provides me with even a moment of comfort.