Ronnie froze.
“Lucas,” Lila yelled behind me. “M—”
Another silencer-fitted gun fired, and the sound of something solid hitting the sand vibrated through my screaming soul.
Lila. Had to be. Shot.
But I couldn’t look. I couldn’t tear my stare from Ronnie.
Such a small distance between us, and it stretched for an eternity.
“Tell the dog to sit,” the man with the gun to Ronnie’s temple ordered.
“Groot, sit,” Ronnie said, fear and anger turning the command to a snarl.
Growling, hackles raised, Groot inched toward them.
“I meant the fucker in the monkey suit,” the man said, smirking at me. “But I’ll kill the mutt as well if it doesn’t sit.”
“Groot,” Ronnie said. “Sit.”
Groot sat.
I took a step forward, staring at Ronnie. At the bastard holding her. At the other bastard training his gun on me, on Ronnie’s sobbing parents, on me again. They were dead men. Corpses. They just didn’t know it yet.
“Good,” said the bastard holding her, before he reeled back his hand and smacked the butt of his gun into the side of her head.
Eyes rolling back, she crumpled, and the bastard caught her just as Groot lunged forward.
Another gunshot shattered the air, and Groot flung backward, hitting the sand. Motionless.
The world turned cold.
“Another step, Tripwire,” a smooth male voice thick with arrogance called from the helicopter, “and everyone dies, not just the dog.”
I swung my focus from Ronnie’s limp form. Rage turned everything red.
A slim man with slick grey hair smiled at me from the open side of the helicopter, the immaculate suit he wore screaming money. A lot of money.
“Are you the fuck who sent the wire to my house?” I shouted.
The man dipped his head. “I thank you for making this moment glorious, Tripwire,” he said just as the bastard carrying Ronnie deposited her into the opening beside him. “I’d planned to just kill your bitch for what you’ve done, but this is so much more poetic. An eye for an eye, as it were.”
I took a step forward and froze as the suited fucker withdrew a small Glock 26 and pointed it straight at Ronnie’s inert form. “I’d stop if I were you.”
Gut churning, rage burning me up, I balled my fists at my side. “Who the fuck are you?” I shouted.
What had I done to this guy? Surely the cops would be coming soon? Was Lila alive? Fluffy? Groot? God, what would Ronnie do if her dog was dead?
He smirked as the two men dressed in black climbed into the helicopter, one disappearing inside, the other turning to level his gun at my chest from the open side access.
“Let’s call me a grieving father, shall we?” A cold, smug smile curled the suited bastard’s lips. “Goodbye, Lucas Pratt. I’ll take good care of your fiancée for you.”
He moved backward, the shadows of the helicopter’s interior engulfing him, and closed the door.
“No,” I screamed, throwing myself into a dead sprint forward.
The mountain of a grunt aiming his gun at me laughed, climbed into the front of the helicopter, and slammed the door shut. The blades spun faster, blurring into nothing, and the chopper lifted off the ground.