“Shotgun,” he jokes through the pain, hitting the unlock button and heading for the passenger side. I hear his door slam shut as I round the back of the car at full speed, mind totally occupied by thoughts of escape. I’m so focused on getting out of here, I nearly smash straight into someone.
No, not someone.
Padraic.
AKA Petey.
AKA a one of Mac’s boys, intent on revenge.
Crap on asiago focaccia.
***
I drop Boo almost as a reflex, both hands lifting to wrap around the gun. I aim it at Petey, wishing my arms weren’t shaking so much.
He smiles darkly when he sees the gun bouncing.
“Scared?” He smirks as he takes a step toward me. “You should be. I’m gonna get you.”
“And my little dog, too?” I wisecrack while my finger searches for the safety button.
He takes another step. “You aren’t gonna shoot me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” I find the button at last.
Yes! Victory is mine!
I push it. The magazine falls out the bottom of my gun.
No! Victory is so not mine!
“Frack,” I whisper, staring in disbelief at my utterly useless weapon. I hit the wrong damn button. Again.
Petey laughs as he makes a lunge for me. I recoil away, knowing I’m not fast enough. The only thought in my head is that I’m pretty sure I’m done for, when I hear it.
A growl.
My eyes drop just in time to see a white blob of fur launch itself at Petey’s outstretched hands.
“What the fu— AHH!” Petey curses as a row of tiny, razor-sharp teeth clamp down on the fleshy part of his palm. “FUCK!”
He whips his injured hand sharply and I see Boo go flying.
“No!” I scream, watching his tiny body bounce off the side of the SUV with a sickening thud. He lets out an unmistakable yelp of pain when he hits the asphalt, before his body goes completely still. “Boo!”
He’s not moving.
My adorable demon-dog is not moving.
Something inside me snaps.
I don’t think. I hurl myself at Petey, hell-bent on destruction. My fists flail out and I feel vindication pump through me as one collides with his nose. My nails rake down his cheek so hard blood beads in their tracks.
“Fuck!” His hands come up to block my assault. I notice one of them is bleeding.
Good. Boo drew blood, too.
I kick him, one of my stilettos making contact with his most prized possession — the space directly between his legs. He grunts in pain and hunches in on himself involuntarily. He seems stunned I’m fighting back.
I use that to my advantage.
“You hurt my dog, you fucker!” I scream at the top of my lungs, kicking him in the shins, the thighs, anywhere I can reach. Again and again and again, until he falls to the ground, groaning.
“You shot my brother!” I scream, barely recognizing my own voice.
I kick and kick and kick, with a savagery that surprises me.
“And that’s for Lila, you sonovabitch!”
He moans and curls tighter into himself.
“Sweet P.”
The tension in my brother’s tone makes me look up from my assault. Petey is whimpering on the ground like a coward. I feel a strange, detached sense of satisfaction when I see that, along with some serious undercurrents of horror at my own barbarity.
Perfect Phoebe West — socialite and secret sociopath. Who knew?
My eyes swing up toward the sound of Parker’s voice and I feel them widen as they take in the sight a dozen feet from me. My throat closes, not letting any air in or out as I stare at my big brother.
He’s standing there looking at me, a bright crimson circle staining his t-shirt at the shoulder, with a gun barrel pressed to his temple. My eyes trail from the hand holding the gun, up one muscular arm, and finally, to the face of the man who’s been haunting my nightmares.
***
“Cormack.” The word barely makes it past my lips. “Let him go.”
“I don’t think so, Phoebe.” He smiles — a cold, cruel grimace. “See, I need one of you. Your father isn’t being cooperative. I think he needs a bit of incentive.”
I hear gunfire in the distance — Nate and Theo are still occupied on the tarmac. I’m on my own.
My razor-sharp stiletto heel is poised over Petey’s temple. I know if I stepped down with all my body weight, I could kill him instantly.