Page 92 of Holding On

I don’t say anything as I move to him.

I have nothing to say to this asshole, not anymore.

He should’ve been a father figure, a protector, and a guiding force in my life. But he was nothing but a force for pain, extortion, abuse, and caused so much loss.

In a movie, there would probably be a killer line, speech, or some awesome saying before the bad guy is taken down, but this is my life, and I have no interest in ever speaking to this flaming heap of garbage ever again.

With strength I’m not sure where I find, I rush toward the men and get close enough to grab Rick’s shoulder, who foolishly assumes I’m trying to go for the gun in his right hand like Jack is attempting to take. But he’s always underestimated me and who I am, and this time, it will only help lead to his own demise.

Rick extends the arm, holding the gun further over and away from his body, effectively making it easier for me to get closer and raise my knee with a force as hard as I possibly can right between his legs.

I’ve heard a lot of sounds in my career as a professional musician.

Some sounds have been ethereal and majestic.

Some sounds have been terribly haunting. But this? This sound is an odd mixture of both—and it is magnificent.

I was unaware that it was physically possible for a grown man to make the high-pitched screeching sound that erupts from Rick’s mouth when my knee connects with all of the force that I could muster, and some flowing from the depths of my soul that I may have borrowed from generations that came before me.

This strike was so much more than a single moment.

It was twenty years of control and hurt.

It was for the pain this man caused me.

It was for this asshole murdering my father and being directly responsible for the murder of my mother.

It was for causing the murder of my best friend.

But most of all—honestly—that kick was for me.

It came from the depths of my soul and the core of who I am—that inner child that just wanted to sing to make people happy and be loved by her family.

Jack immediately seizes on the opportunity of distraction to land an elbow strike against Rick’s forearm before he was even done screaming. He finally drops the gun to the ground, which I scoop up and back away until the back of my legs hit the couch, forcing me to collapse on the sectional, seconds before vomit erupts from Rick.

As soon as I picked up the gun, I noticed we weren’t alone. Vivian’s husband Walker had rushed in with his gun drawn to swiftly help Jack detain Rick, but before I can see anything else, I’m air born so fast my stomach drops as I’m being removed from the room. Thor carries me bridal style out of the room, and Jack’s driver Ethan takes the gun out of my hands as we walk past him.

“Thor! Put me down!” I demand but he ignores my cries. “I need to check on my brother! Thor!”

“Miss Sinclair, I have my orders. Mr. Callahan will be with you soon, I promise. Ethan and Jett will make sure Mr. Sinclair is tended to as well.” Thor carries me to my bedroom where Allie is waiting for me, and she pulls me down to sit on the bed. “Jack specifically said the plan was to remove you from the room and get you somewhere safe out of the line of sight of Rick Wilson, Debbie Jo Wilson, and Kane Daughtry until the authorities could remove them.”

My eyes snap from the doorway to him at that. “The plan?”

“Yeah, they had an entire plan like a bunch of ninjas, and it was amazing and terrifying and oh my goodness! Honey, are you okay?” My cousin throws her arms around me, sobbing.

Thor is hovering near Allie, but I don’t miss the way he’s watching me like a hawk. I’m not crying—I think I’m in shock—but I do wince at her hug, recalling the recent and new rib injuries Rick gave me as a parting gift, along with the malicious blows to my back.

“Is that it?” I softly ask Thor.

“Is what it, Miss Sinclair?”

“Thor. It’s Tinsley. Stop it. I mean, is it really over?” My teeth are starting to chatter. Am I cold? I didn’t think I was cold.

Thor walks over to the chair in the corner and grabs the throw blanket off it, handing it to Allie to wrap around me as he answers. The blanket smells like Jack: a mixture of smoky sandalwood with notes of amber, and another note of something that is just … him.

“Oh, yeah, you did really good, Miss Sin—Tinsley. Those assholes are all going away for a long fucking time.”

I rear back and my eyebrows shoot up. “All of them? Rick too?”