Page 86 of Their Stormy Reunion

Sid let out a laugh, cold and manic. “You know I don’t care if I get out of this alive. I just want to cause you as much pain as possible. Look over at that bitch you call Mom. She’s looking pretty dead to me.”

My gaze shifted to Mom, lying in a pool of blood, then I looked back at Sid.

He pressed the blade tighter to Fallon’s throat. A thin line of blood welled along the edge of the knife.

My pulse roared in my ears. I scanned the room for an opening, anything I could use. “You kill her fast and then me, you don’t get to see me suffer long. Isn’t that the whole point?”

His eyes flickered. Doubt. That’s all I needed.

A shot rang out. Sid’s arm jerked back—Nolan had shot his wrist. The knife clattered to the floor. Fallon launched herself sideways, knocking her chair over. I took the shot.

His head exploded.

Nolan was on his knees next to my mother. “I have a pulse. Jace, go to the truck and grab my med kit.”

I was already at Fallon’s side. I carefully pulled the duct tape off her mouth. I ripped the duct tape from her clothes as I got her free. She threw her arms around my neck, her body trembling against mine. We both stumbled over to my mom.

Mom’s eyes were open, and she was pissed. “Did you kill him?” she demanded to know.

“I did.”

“Good.”

Then she turned to Nolan. “I don’t know your name, son. I’m Lana Rankin.”

Now that I saw she was in good hands, I turned to Fallon.

“You did so good. That was so smart to ask Sid if you would need a jacket.”

“I knew you’d come,” she whispered against my chest.

I took off my jacket and wrapped it around her. She gave me a grateful smile.

“I’ll always come after you. I never want to be apart from you again.”

She looked up at me solemnly. “Michael, you do understand you’re nothing like him, don’t you?”

The noxious feeling that had floated around in my gut finally dispersed. I smiled at Fallon. “Yeah, I know. But I’ll never tire of you telling me that. I love you.”

“And I’ll never tire of you telling me that.”

I had invited myself over to dinner at the Vickers and then arrived early. I’d told Bob and Isla that I needed to talk to them about something important. I knew they thought I was going to propose to Fallon, and I was, but first I needed to set some things straight.

Fallon was sitting on the couch, flanked on either side by her parents. I was standing by the fireplace, my shoulders tense. I put my hands in my slacks pockets, then took them out. Fallon knew what this was all about, and she looked as nervous as I felt.

“Mr. and Mrs. Vickers.”

“Michael, you call us Bob and Isla, you know that,” Bob interrupted me.

I gave a brief head nod.

“I need to explain a couple of things, now that the dust has settled. You now know about my biological dad killing my mom when I was five years old, and me testifying against him. After all, it made national news, what with Mom’s and Fallon’s kidnapping.”

Bob nodded. “Yep. He was a nasty piece of work.”

“Yeah, he was. The thing is, part of me, deep down, really thought I was like him. I didn’t realize it consciously, but that belief was there.”

I saw both of her parents frowning, trying to comprehend what I was saying.