One More Time

The crack of the gunshot in the room was impossibly loud. It echoed like thunder around the room, making me jump. My body had twitched and jerked so hard at the sound of the shot, I thought for a split second that I'd been hit. That I was dead. Or dying.

Cal must have thought the same thing, because he jumped off me and was quickly looking around – and looking down at himself. An unfamiliar man stood in the doorway with long, jet black hair and nearly black eyes. He wasn't looking at me though. He was focused on Cal. With a growl, Cal lunged toward him with the knife, knocking the guy off his feet.

Another man entered quickly behind the first. Paul. He had a gun.

“Paul, please –” I screamed, just as Paul took aim at the stranger.

He squeezed the trigger and shot but missed. He aimed again just as Cal got on top of the stranger with the knife to the man's throat.

“Hannah?”

It was Eli.

“No, Eli!” I cried out, not wanting him to rush in.

Paul turned toward the voice and I screamed again, but it was too late. A gunshot rang out. I closed my eyes, tears blinding me and the thunderous roar of the gunshots deafening me.

“No!” I screamed over and over again.

Hands grab

bed hold of me, shaking me until I opened my eyes. I stared up into the most gorgeous, chocolate brown eyes I'd ever seen.

“You're alive,” I said, not sure if I believed it just yet.

“For now,” Eli said, holding Cal's knife.

He cut my hands free, then my feet, and helped me up to my feet. I visually searched Eli's body for a wound. Seeing the blood on his shirt that set my heart racing and my mind into a near panic. The very moment he had my hands were free, I was lifting at his shirt and searching for bullet holes. When my hand touched his shoulder, he flinched.

“It grazed you,” I said, relief flooding through me.

He was going to live, as long as we got out of here. The gunshots and shouts had died down, and I finally pulled my gaze away from Eli and at the carnage around us. Paul was dead. Eli had been faster. Cal was also dead, as far as I could tell. The strange man with the dark hair was lying in a pool of blood, and Eli stared down at him, a glint of remorse in his eyes.

“You knew him?”

“Briefly,” he said. “But he wasn't the man I thought he was either.”

“It seems to be going around these days,” I muttered as I thought back to Chris.

A few other guys, all seemingly friendly to Eli, cleared the way for us to leave. Eli shielded me from looking at the rest of the death around me, which was probably for the best since most of the dead were familiar faces from my childhood. He led me out through a side door and out into the lot. Sirens sounded in the distance and were drawing closer. As soon as we stepped out into the cool, night air, Eli slid down the side of the building and groaned in pain, clutching his wounded shoulder.

I fell down onto my ass beside him, putting pressure on the wound.

“Who were those guys?” I asked.

“The Widows,” he said.

I cocked an eyebrow. “You suddenly thinking about joining a motorcycle club, Eli?”

He chuckled, then winced and grimaced as the pain tore through him. “Only if I get to be a good guy,” he said. “No more of this shit. I've killed one too many people in my life already.”

“It was self-defense,” I said, pushing the hair from his face.

His face fell. “Hannah, there's something I have to tell you – about your dad.”

“That he's dead?” I whispered.

“Yeah, Titus – the guy on the ground with Cal – killed him. I tried to stop it, but –”