Page 108 of Ricochet

I scarcely took a breath as he advanced toward me. When he reached the top of the staircase, he flanked left, in the direction of my room.

From Nick’s room, I tracked the sounds of his footsteps, the slide of drawers, what sounded like rifling through the mostly empty nightstand beside the bed, where I kept my art supplies. The whoosh and crinkle of paper told me he flipped through my sketchpad.

Breathe in, breathe out. I’d never killed a man before.

I didn’t like the link to Michael. Too close. Way too close. It told me that the bastard and his cronies had more information than perhaps even Nick had anticipated, because no way he’d have left me passed out if he knew that asshole had been lurking around. The queasiness filled my stomach with dread at the thought that Nick might have walked straight into an ambush, and perhaps he wouldn’t survive. Though, maybe that was what he’d planned all along.

The ultimate revenge isn’t the murder of my enemy. It’s the whisper of truth on my last stolen breath. Words from his letter.

Last stolen breath? My stomach flipped on itself, as hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. He never planned to come back at all.

That envelope probably contained answers to every question spinning through my head, including what the hell would’ve possessed him to go storming into certain death.

I glanced back to where I’d stuffed the envelope behind the fire-back, but at the sound of Cox’s boots against the wood floors, my attention snapped back to my bedroom.

“Where are you, bitch? I find you, this fucking nightmare ends.” His mutter could be heard in the quiet.

I peeked around the corner, then propped my knee beneath my wrist to steady my aim.

Aim Shoot Kill. Aim Shoot Kill.

He came into view. I had a clear shot of him.

I took it.

“Motherfuck!” Cox fell into the door of the adjacent bedroom before crashing to the floor.

Within seconds, shots pinged off the wall beside me, forcing me to duck out of the way.

“I’ll kill you, cunt! You fuckin’ shot my leg!”

“I’m warning you, Cox. Get the hell out of here, or I’ll kill you.”

“I was ordered to bring you back alive, but I wasn’t told I had to bring you back unharmed.”

My hands trembled harder, and I pushed my muscles, straining them to keep steady, while keeping my gaze on the man whose stiffened leg was raised into the air. “This is your last chance. Leave now!”

“Fuck you!”

More gunfire, in a rapid burst.

I lay back on the floor and aimed my gun at his head. “One shot. One kill,” I whispered.

He sneered, staring down at me, pistol aimed at my head in a standoff. “What are you, a fucking sniper now?”

“Don’t do it. I’ll blow your fucking head off, Cox. I swear to God, I will.”

His eyes narrowed. “I have a question. You’re all alone in this house. Why didn’t you run? Call for help?”

At the lift of his lip, I shot his shoulder.

“Fuckin hell!” The pistol fell from his grip, and he slapped his good hand to the wound and lunged toward me.

Hands swiped out at me with no purchase, and I hammered a fist into his face, kicking his head to the side. I pushed myself to a stand, keeping him in my sights, and nabbed his cellphone clipped at his hip.

Scrolling through the numbers, I found Michael. “Call him.”

A part of me couldn’t believe I was about to do something so dangerous and stupid. Throw myself back into the asshole’s lap. I probably wouldn’t come out alive this time. I couldn’t let Nick get killed, though. Not after he’d saved my life, cared for me, and set me free. I loved him. And for that reason, walking away wasn’t an option.