I focus on Piper. Her eyes are wide with horror, fixed on the man standing behind me. My mind fractures. One part of me is fully present, inside this situation, recognizing that Piper’s expression, twisting in terror, might be the last thing I see.
Another part of me—the part that has already lived through hell and faced the prospect of death and then come out on the other side—is seething and ready to do anything it takes to remove the threat in the environment. He won’t hurt her. I won’t allow it.
How the hell did he get in here? How dare he come into my residence and put Piper through this.
“What do you want?” I keep my voice light and easy, but my muscles are locking, my mind turning over options and alternatives.
The gun digs harder into my neck. “You ruined everything. You took her from me. Like you don’t already have enough.”
I grit my teeth. As if Piper were a thing someone could take.
“He’s not the one you’re mad at. I’m the one who left.” Piper’s voice quavers, her hand flexing around the torch still in her hand.
“You,” Ben spits. “You’ve been ignoring me. Like I mean nothing.” He moves the gun from my skin. “I mean something now, don’t I?”
The barrel moves into my peripheral vision, pointing at Piper.
No. Every cell in my body revolts. I twist and reach in one sharp movement and yank the weapon down. Adrenaline pounds through me, sharpening details—the black matte of the gun, the dots on the grip, the smell of Ben’s cologne mixed with the acridness of sweat and booze. His brown shirt.
Brown shirt. The delivery guy. That’s how he got in.
We struggle over the firearm, my fingers slipping off the barrel. Time spreads and slows, our grappling tug-of-war interminable, like the drip of sap down a tree.
The gun fires. My ears go numb and the world goes muted except a faint ringing. Time resumes at a frantic pace.
A tall figure emerges from the direction of the garage, jumps on top of Ben, and tumbles all of us to the floor. My elbow slams into the concrete. Brienne is sprawling on top of Ben, holding his arms down while he gasps for air after falling straight on his back.
The gun. Where is it? I have to get the gun. My eyes alight on an inch of the black grip pinned under Ben’s shoulder.
I yank it out from underneath him and fling it to the side, out of reach. My ears are still ringing. Distantly, I wonder if I’m in shock. Nothing seems real.
Trembling hands pat my shoulders and down the front of my body. My eyes find Piper crouching in front of me. Her mouth moves, but no sound emerges over the buzzing reverberation in my ears. Her head is cocked at an angle to keep her phone in place between her cheek and shoulder.
She jerks on my suit jacket. Dazed, I help her tug it off. I glance down. A blood stain spreads along the left sleeve of my shirt. It’s a lot of blood.
“I’m bleeding.”
She presses on the wound, and a sharp sting breaks through the numb shell surrounding me, burning fire spreading on my arm. Grimacing, I try to ignore the pain and focus on Piper. Her eyes are on my arm, and she presses her hand against the wound. Her expression is tight, her mouth still moving as she speaks with whomever is on the phone—the authorities, most likely, I decide in a detached way.
Her hair is tousled around her face, and I reach to push back the strands but use my injured arm.
She scowls at me. “Stay still.” The words are faint but legible through the ringing in my head.
I smile, and for some reason her eyes fill with tears. My smile falters. I don’t want her to cry.
People fill the room, and activity blurs around me, like it’s all happening to someone else and I’m merely an observer. Time becomes as wispy as smoke.
The paramedics arrive, my arm is wrapped, and I’m carted into an ambulance filled with IV fluids and taken to a nearby medical center. Panic threatens the corners of my mind. The only thing keeping me sane is Piper’s hand in mine. She stays with me, tethering me to reality.
At the hospital, I’m cleaned and stitched and given pain medication and I don’t even know what else, but I think I fall asleep.
When I return to consciousness, I’m lying in a hospital bed. The lights are dim, with sunlight trying to break in around the edges of the curtained window. Everything is white—walls, sheets, floor.
Piper is tucked into a chair near my bed, her eyes closed. I shift, trying to sit up.
“You’re awake.” She rubs her eyes before moving closer then twining her fingers with mine while one hand fusses, straightening my blanket. “Are you comfortable? Do you need anything? Water?”
I nod, and she hands me a disposable cup without releasing my hand.