Brant
I raised my hands, adrenaline spiking in my blood, panic flaring in my brain as my eyes bounced between Belle, who was as pale as a ghost, and Paige, who waved a gun between both of us, her eyes cold, calculating.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
I didn’t answer. Aaron’s words shot through my brain.
Paige is a pathological liar. She lies as easily as other people breathe.
Paige trained the gun back on Belle. “You told me you broke up.”
Belle swallowed, panic in her eyes. “We had . . . when I called you earlier, we had. I—” She shook her head, tears filling her eyes as she swallowed again.
I took an instinctive step toward her but Paige moved the gun back to me. “Don’t move, or I’ll make sure she dies this time. I’m not a drugged-out transient, and I know how to shoot.”
“Please, Paige, she’s pregnant,” I rasped, desperate.
“Well, look at you trapping another man, forcing him to stay with you. Seems to be your specialty, doesn’t it?”
Belle didn’t say anything, her horror-filled eyes locked on me as if keeping me in her gaze was helping her to remain calm. Oh, Belle. You’ve been here before, haven’t you? She’d faced this before. Faced a gun, watched it kill her baby. Oh, God. What would this do to her? My heart felt like it was breaking, while at the same time wild terror clawed at my gut. I had to get that gun away from Paige. She was rambling. “That’s what you did to Ethan. That’s how he felt. Trapped by you. He only married you because you went and got knocked up.” She stared for a moment. “And it was good insurance that those braying idiots wouldn’t ever report him. But it was me he loved. Me he wanted to be with, me he was going to take with him when he left. We understood each other, Ethan and I.” She let out a small sob that immediately turned into a scowl as if all her false, manipulative emotions were coming apart at the seams, melting into one another. “Then that idiot killed him. And I was left with Aaron who now, doesn’t have a pot to piss in. And all that time you wore a key around your neck that led right to that money that is rightfully mine. Ethan was going to share it with me. He would have wanted me to have it.”
I took a step forward and the gun swung toward me, Paige stilling, aiming. I froze. “Let us go, Paige. If you hurt us, this can’t end well. You have to know that. Drive away. Disappear. We won’t call the police.”
She gave me a look that bordered on pity. “Liar. And anyway, I can’t just drive away. I don’t have any money. Aaron made sure of that. I need Ethan’s money. Isabelle and I will have to drive to Amishville and get what she gave them back.”
As if I’d ever let Isabelle get in a car with her.
Because I knew I’d never see her again. In fact, I was pretty sure she planned to kill both of us at this point, and Isabelle’s parents too. It was all too much for me to think about now.
Isabelle’s wide eyes beseeched me, trying to say something without using words. Maybe she was thinking the same thing; maybe she knew what Paige would do because there was no other option for her now. Something came into Belle’s eyes: fierce anger. And it looked like it was growing, heating. It was rage. A mother’s rage. My heart pounded. I sensed a very small movement and in my peripheral vision, saw Isabelle’s hand lower slightly behind her leg where she was standing against the wall. I didn’t allow my eyes to go to her hand, to try to figure out what she might b
e doing. My brain buzzed with fear, but I cleared my throat attempting to get Paige’s attention. She’d lapsed into silence, her eyes settled on me. I hated that she was far enough to shoot us before either of us could rush her and grab the gun.
“There’s no need to go to Isabelle’s parents’ house, Paige,” I said. “I have money. I’m a very rich man. I can give you all the money you want. I’ll double what Isabelle gave away.”
Paige tilted her head, seeming to consider that for a moment. “Too many risks. I’ll have to wait for the cash. You’ll have it marked.” She sighed, her eyes growing unfocused for a moment, seeming to decide something. “No, sorry, I really am, but this is the only way. None of you have left me with any choices.”
As if she’d made up her mind and that was that, she raised the gun, aiming it at me. Belle let out a piercing battle cry, rushing toward Paige, raising something in her hand. A yardstick. A fucking flimsy yardstick. A deep yell reverberated through my head, and I realized it was me, rushing forward as well.
The gun exploded and I felt a searing pain rip through my thigh, taking me to the floor. Someone screamed, Belle possibly. I rolled, yelling Belle’s name, and began pulling myself up despite the agony in my leg.
As if in slow motion, I watched Paige turn the gun toward Belle who had almost reached her and pull the trigger. The gun exploded again, hitting Belle square in the heart, a black hole appearing in her light gray coat. She flew backward and hit the wall with a loud thud, dropping to the floor.
I bellowed her name, my leg giving out as I fell to my knees. Another deafening shot filled the air and when I raised my head, Paige was falling, crumpling to the floor, the gun sliding across the hardwood. My father stood behind us in the open doorway, a smoking shotgun poised on his shoulder as he stared through the sights, pure fury in his expression.
I choked out Belle’s name again, attempting to stand, but unable to, going back down on my knees and crawling to her.
“Belle, Belle,” I choked. “Baby, please. Oh God.” I gathered her in my arms, shaking so badly I could barely control my movements. The spot where the bullet had hit her was a smoldering wound in the wool of her jacket. I let out a sound that was vaguely animalistic, a wailing cry of complete and utter devastation. There was no way she could have survived a shot like this. There was no way her precious heart was still beating.
I heard my father calling 9-1-1, heard him telling the dispatcher the shooter was dead. And then I felt my father kneel beside me, his hand on my shoulder, not saying a word as I rocked Belle’s body in my arms. “I’m here, son,” my father said, a sob in his voice. “I’m here. And help is coming.”
I heard the distant sound of sirens. It was too late, though. There was blood beneath us, hers, mine, a deep red mixture of horror, of loss, of a night I would never recover from.
“Brant.” The softest of whispers. It sounded like Isabelle, though I knew it was not. “Brant.”
At the sound of my name being said more strongly, I jerked my head up, looking at where Isabelle lay in my lap. Her eyes were open. “Brant,” she repeated, blinking groggily.
Shock rocketed through me, and I let out a sound of joyful disbelief. “Belle, Belle,” I rasped, unbuttoning her coat with shaky fingers. It took me several tries, my eyes insisting on moving back to hers rather than focusing on the task my hands were undertaking. She stared up at me, confused, disoriented.