Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Elliot didn’t look down, surprisingly stoic despite being under gunfire, the curve of his jaw rock-solid.
“We’re being shot at. I’d say dramatic is appropriate.” He was barely breathing heavily as he ran faster than I thought he’d be able to with me in his arms.
Another pop sounded, bark shattering from a tree somewhere nearby.
We were heading back in the direction of his house.
“Please tell me you’re a believer in the second amendment,” I said.
“You mean the law that was designed in a time when citizens might’ve been called to take up arms against tyrannical rules and people were being owned as property?” he replied, still somehow not at all breathless.
“As much as I’m fucking glad you’re a liberal, supporting women’s rights and human rights that aren’t old white men, I kind of wish you had a little bit of toxicity in you,” I bit out. “Then you’d own a gun. I own a gun.”
I didn’t tell him I owned multiple weapons. Didn’t seem like the time for it.
Focused, he still hadn’t peered down at me. Somehow, he was running through the woods and evading gunshots while having an entirely inappropriate conversation with me. And barely breaking a sweat.
“I’m not surprised you own a gun,” he replied.
“If only I had the sense to come to this interaction armed,” I muttered, noting that the gunfire had slowed down. How many shots was it? Seven? Likely, they were out of ammo. Therefore, probably using a handgun. If they were using a shotgun, there’d be more pauses while they reloaded, and I’d be without a large chunk of my arm instead of what I figured was just a graze.
Even just a graze from a bullet hurt like hell. I focused on the pain to stay present, the firm angle of Elliot’s jaw, the determined look in his eye, and the lack of bullets that had landed in his body.
When we made it back to the house, he sprinted through the door, slamming it closed behind us before crouching down low in the living room.
No windows shattered, and no shrill gunshots sounded as Elliot jostled me in his arms, not letting me go as he called 911.
I listened to him give a calm rundown of the situation while his eyes darted to the windows and doors, as if he was expecting someone wielding a gun to burst in at any second.
I tried to slow down my erratic breathing. My own body was in fight-or-flight mode, heart thundering and pissed that I didn’t have any kind of weapon myself. Though I’d been aware of my situation when I moved here, I hadn’t thought it was necessary to travel around town armed. That would do nothing but alert my already suspicious brother. I’d operated under the assumption that the organization I was tangled with was not overt or stupid enough to come at me with obvious violence. In a town as small as Jupiter, doing so would cause a splash, elicit attention. Those people liked to fly under the radar.
Yet it was obvious that I had been naive. Or they were losing their patience.
It was very possible we could die here, if the shooter was really determined or if there was more than one.
Chills raced down my spine, thinking about whether the shooter was there for me. If yes, it would likely be a highly trained, motivated killer or team of killers with ties to organized crime.
It might’ve even been Jasper.
No… If he was tasked with killing me, he wouldn’t do it like that. Nor would he miss. Though I’d resolutely believed up until recently that Jasper would never be involved in anything that caused me harm.
Right then, I wasn’t so sure.
“You need to go into the closet and lock the door.” Elliot ripped his eyes away from the various entry points to look at me, then my arm, which was steadily dripping blood on the rug. Not enough to be concerned about. Enough to have to buy a new rug, though.
He didn’t skip a beat, ripping his sweater. He then tore at his tee underneath to grab a scrap of fabric, tying it around my upper arm with practiced ease and confidence.
I didn’t wince at the agony I felt as he tightened the makeshift bandage to presumably staunch the flow of blood.
“Don’t have time to get to the first aid kit right now,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You get in the closet.”
“I’m not going to hide in the fucking closet while you stay out here and try to take on an armed offender with what, your boyish charm?” I knew snapping at him was unfair given the circumstances, but I had to do something to cover the absolute terror overwhelming me at the thought of something happening to Elliot because of me.
His family just managed to breathe again; they were going to be happy. I was not going to be the cause of them suffering again.