Page 53 of Protected from Reprisal
I dare another look at Yara’s face. Her expression is scared but resolute. Then she jerks her chin to the left.
Fear clutches at my chest.
I have to do it. As much as I don’t want to. But I need to end this. Now. Before he does something to Yara that can’t be fixed.
Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly. “Kellogg.” In a more conciliatory tone, I add, “Maybe I’m wrong about her. Why don’t you explain? Just lower the knife first. Okay? Then you can tell me what she did over there. If it’s as bad as you say, maybe I will leave. Pretend I never saw any of this.”
Hurt flashes in Yara’s eyes.
My gut twists.I’m just playing his game,I want to assure her.I don’t think you’re a traitor. I don’t think you deserve any of this. I just need an opening. Please, believe me.
Kellogg stares at me, thinking.
Put the knife down,I silently order. Just move it a little ways away from her. Just give me a damn opening. That’s all I need.
And after several agonizing seconds, he does.
The tip of the blade drops away from Yara’s chest.
The front of her tattered sweater is dark with blood.
Instinct screams at me to get to her. Now. Get her down from the ceiling, pull her into my arms, take care of her, just, fuck. I can’t stand not being able to hold her.
“There was this guy,” Kellogg starts. “And she”—he jerks his head in Yara’s direction—“saw an opening. She knew she could use her body to get what she wanted. She told him things, too. I’m sure of it. All to get her fucking books. Her bed. Baths—she got fucking baths. Can you believe that? I didn’t even have enough water to drink and she?—”
Yara nods at me.
It’s time,her eyes say.
I lift my chin at her.I know.
My pulse jumps.
Adrenaline surges.
And then.
She shoves herself to the side and away from the knife.
I fire, not at his head, like I really want to, but at his shoulder.
It’s not a harmless shot, like you see in the movies, when the hero just keeps going like it was barely a scratch. We joke about that, my friends and I, how in the movies, otherwise life-threatening injuries are brushed off like they’re nothing. A shot to the lower side. A knife to the shoulder. In the movies, they don’t mention the axillary artery that runs through the shoulder. Or the internal organs in the lower abdomen.
But they’re there. Which makes the shot I take so much deadlier.
I’m not trying to kill him, as much as I want to. But if it happens? I won’t lose any sleep over it.
The instant the bullet hits Kellogg’s shoulder, crimson blossoms. The blade drops to the floor. He staggers back and shouts, “Fuck!” as he claps his other hand to the bleeding wound.
Then I leap at him, roaring in fury.
Using the moves I practice several times a week, I have him flipped over and pinned in a matter of seconds. Jerking his arms behind his back, I quickly restrain him with the zip ties I never go anywhere without.
As I yank the ties tight, a memory hits me. We were celebrating the official opening of the Shadow team branch, and Cole gave us an entire case of zip ties as a gift. We all laughed,Cole included, but once the laughter died down, he told us solemnly, “Keep them on you. Always. You’ll never know when you’ll need them. Trust me.”
And he was right. Numerous times before, and especially now.
Kellogg bitches and moans while I hogtie his ankles to his wrists, whining about how he needs first aid right away or he could bleed to death. “I could lose my arm,” he accuses. “You shot me! I could lose my fucking?—”
