Better when He's Bold

She shuddered. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Dovie would never hurt anyone.”

I frowned really hard as the pieces of the puzzle started to lock into place in my head and all the wrong things with the situation started to burn bright and clear behind the fear that was coursing through me. “She wouldn’t. She also wouldn’t have a fight with Bax and call to blab to me about it. That isn’t how she works.” I put a hand on my sister’s shoulder and squeezed. “Please do what Booker is telling you to do.”

We stared at each other for a long minute, her brown eyes full of things far beyond her tender years. Finally she nodded and disappeared down the hallway. Booker walked to the closed door and waited until the sound of furniture scraping across the floor could be heard throughout the condo.

When he stalked back toward me I don’t think I had ever seen anyone look scarier or more ready to handle business.

“Dovie is part of this place. She knows Race was freaked out about anyone knowing where you are. She’s too smart to ask for that info. None of this is right. You need to go upstairs and do the same thing I just had your sister do.” He produced a nasty-looking gun from somewhere behind his back and held it out to me. “Do you know how to use this?”

I shook my head numbly. I had never actually been up close with a weapon before. Like everything in my life since I got tangled up in the Point, it looked cold and deadly, yet seemed so totally necessary.

“No. I’ve never touched a gun in my life.”

He swore some more, got really creative with every dirty word in the book, and then opened and closed a series of kitchen drawers until he produced a wicked-looking butcher knife. He slapped it on the counter in front of me and stated in a tone that left no room for argument, “Take that. If you need to use it then shit is fucked and I don’t know what else to tell you other than good luck, Blondie. Now get your ass upstairs.”

The last of his words were drowned out by a knock on the door. I felt my eyes widen and gulped when he moved around me all tense and coiled to attack like a predator. More knocking rattled the door, and I still hadn’t moved, so I shook myself loose and ran toward the stairs with every intention of barricading myself in the master bathroom until I got the “all clear” from Booker. Only before I hit the first step there was a series of loud pops and the sound of splintering wood. Blood bloomed furiously scarlet across Booker’s chest and I saw him turn around to tell me to run when the door was kicked open with a resounding thud. I watched in horror as Booker pulled his own weapon and the sound of more shots filled the space. It sounded like a gun range or an Old West shootout, but it was the middle of the day on the docks and this place obviously wasn’t on the up-and-up if Race had managed to get it put in my name so easily, so I didn’t expect any help from the neighbors in the other units. Especially with the entire place smelling like gunpowder and blood.

In the Point everyone only knew how to look out for themselves and how to look the other way. I backed up a few more steps as Booker’s giant frame teetered to one side and a circle of crimson started to bloom rapidly across his back as he fell to his knees. Another shot popped off and I saw him fall face-first right at the doorway as the gun in his hand clattered uselessly to the floor. I screamed but was smart enough to turn and bolt up the rest of the stairs. I needed to call Race. I needed to find help, and all I could think was I needed to put as many doors and as much space between me and the shooter as possible.

I was worried about Booker. I was worried about Dovie. I was worried about my sister, and I was worried about myself.

My phone shone like a beacon where I had left it on the bed after talking to Dovie. I dove for it with every intention of taking it into the bathroom with me so I could call for help, only a heavy weight hit me from behind and knocked me to the floor. I yelped as pain exploded in my already injured head and tried to scramble away as I was yanked onto my back and straddled with a heavy weight across my chest. I went to scream again as my arms were yanked ruthlessly above my head and then I went deathly silent as the barrel of a handgun was pressed directly between my eyes.

I made myself be absolutely still, shock and recognition rippling through me like a tidal wave as I gazed up into Drew’s deranged blue eyes. My head was aching, my reality was spinning around and turning upside down, but there was no mistaking that the guy who had just shot Booker and was now pointing a gun directly to the center of my forehead was someone I had considered a friend up until moments ago. Gone was the guy I walked to class with. Gone was the easygoing guy I borrowed notes from. Gone was any semblance of a stable and caring human being. He looked enraged. His cheeks were bright red and his breath was whooshing in and out like bellows, and I could feel the hatred pouring off of him as he jammed the gun even harder into my forehead.

“Thanks for warning me about your bodyguard, Brysen. That’ll make this so much easier for me.”

I gasped and stared up at him in shock. “Where is Dovie?” My voice was thready and I could hear how scared I sounded. He laughed like a lunatic and bent over me so that our eyes were locked right over the gun. I saw his finger twitch on the trigger, and I was pretty sure I was going to die.

“She served her purpose. This has nothing to do with anyone but you and me. I just needed the guy guarding you out of the way. He’s just one more body you have laying at your feet.”

I had no clue what he was talking about. “What?” I tried to wiggle my fingers because they were going numb, but that just had him yanking my arms higher up over my head and the gun pressing even more tightly into my skull. It was like he was trying to shove it through my face. Drew sat up a little and dragged the gun across my cheek, down my nose, and stopped with it shoved into the soft skin under the curve of my chin.