Randy is on a bed, fucking a girl doggie-style, something like a leash around her neck, her face lifeless. And as bad as that is, it’s not what makes my world tilt on its axis. It’s the gun he has aimed directly at the love of my life. The cause of her position in front of the door, frozen in terror. My knees nearly buckle, but Corbin catches me.
“We got this,” he whispers, and I’m about to question him. How? How could this possibly go right when this motherfucker has a gun pointed at the woman I cherish more than life itself. But he cuts my thoughts off, “We’ve handled worse.”
Brian quickly pulls the camera back out and sets everything aside, rising before us like a giant about to wreak havoc on the ants beneath his shoe. “Stay behind me,” he whispers, pulling his gun from the holster at his ribs just as Corbin pulls his from beneath the back of his shirt, gripping the stock, his finger resting beside the trigger, not on it. But I know how fast that finger can move.
I stop breathing as Brian takes hold of the doorknob.
Everything comes to a complete standstill.
And as if someone pushes Play on a slo-mo reel, he twists the knob.
Fast-forwarding to the speed of light, he opens the door inward, and all I see in the span of that second is Astrid’s head turning toward us in the doorway.
Time slows down again, her long, blonde hair swinging out behind her, her eyes going even wider when she sees us there.
And I don’t think. I just act.
In real time once more, I take one stride toward her, my arm stretching across the open space, my hand wrapping around her raised wrist.
Back in slow motion, her body flies through the air as I yank her with all my might, and her small frame slams into me. I hear a Pow! and then a metallic Dink-Dink! And with my body molded around Astrid, I turn just my head to check on my guys.
Brian is down, his big body sprawled across the carpeted floor, and my gut clenches. My eyes lift to the bed, where the girl has collapsed on her side, Randy flat on his back on the mattress, but he’s still breathing. In fact…
He’s laughing.
I see red.
I spin and put Astrid against the wall behind the open door, and I kneel down just long enough to take Brian’s gun from his hand. In three strides, I make it to the side of the bed and place the gun to Randy’s temple.
Randy opens his eyes, his laughing turning maniacal as he looks up at me.
He coughs, deep-red blood dribbling out the corner of his mouth, his teeth now smeared in it as he grins. “N-Neil Walker?” He blinks a couple of times. “Neil… Walker? Neil fucking Walker.”
My mind flashes back to the hospital when I was eighteen.
“Neil Walker?”
I hear my name, but I can’t seem to make myself acknowledge the voice.
“Neil Walker?”
There it is again, but once more, I can’t lift my arm to show the doctor my presence, and everything around the waiting room suddenly seems to morph.
“Neil Walker? Neil Walker? Neil… Walker? Neil… Wal… ker?” The voice starts out like a bad rendition of that scene in Ferris Bueller, when the teacher, in his infamous monotone voice, checks for attendance. But as my name is called several more times—or maybe just once, only the sound continues to reverberate in my head, spinning out of control until it’s unrecognizable as belonging to me anymore—my world suddenly starts to narrow, the sides, top, and bottom of my line of sight closing in as I get tunnel vision before the world just goes completely black.
But this time, the world doesn’t go black. My vision tunnels, yes, but it’s to narrow my focus directly on the fucker who changed the course of my entire life.
“Well, look at you, Nerdy Neil,” he murmurs, his words coming out slurred as the two gunshot wounds in his chest allow the life to drain from his body. “Didn’t you grow up to be big and strong?”
“Yeah, I did. And I didn’t even have to rape and abuse people half my size to do it,” I growl, digging the gun deeper into the side of his head.
He just chuckles. “Awww, now don’t be like that. These girls love getting paid all that money. What’s a little rough sex when they can turn around and just… retail therapy it away?”
I don’t bother to verbalize my automatic response about the reasons retail therapy doesn’t work. I don’t even go into the reason why he’s such a disgusting, sadistic fuck who has done nothing with his life but ruin other people’s. I don’t get a word out, because he cuts me off.
“And that’s just these girls. You know who I really enjoyed fucking, and I didn’t even have to pay her?” He cackles, widening his eyes up at me and lifting his brows. “Your Shelly giiirl,” he singsongs.