“Yeah, I fucking remember you. How could I forget a dick bag like you?”
His sudden kick to my ribs made me think twice about the next insult I’d readied. “You,” he said, motioning at Sammy. “Get up.”
She watched me nervously. On unsteady legs, she rose up, her backpack hanging limply in one hand. I realized she was slightly taller than Brick; that made me grin, because he noticed, too. Jerking the gun, he said, “Get back by the car.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Just move, honey.”
Licking her lower lip, she eyeballed the distance between her and the car. It was only a few feet away, we hadn’t rolled far. “You’re the guy who attacked me in my house.”
“Good memory.”
“What did you do with my mother?”
“Shut up and get over there,” he growled, motioning with the gun.
Stiff-legged, she did as he said, passing him with a wary look at me. I tried to console her with my eyes. I wanted her to know everything was fine—because it had to be.
Somehow, it had to be.
Brick slid his stare to where I was sitting in the grass. “Thanks for making this easy. You’d think someone would have warned you to stay off the roads, but taking the same route over and over every week . . .” Snorting, he wagged the pistol lazily. “I figured you were smart when you pinned me for breaking into Sammy’s place, but damn. Guess not.”
Nothing stirred the air but crickets. Would anyone hear us out here? I couldn’t see any headlights on the mile-long stretch. I need to stall. “So you attacked her, and now what, you’ll kill her? What’s the point? She’s a nobody. There are better ways to hurt my family.”
Though no better way to hurt me.
He steered his weapon, keeping it trained on me lazily. “Your asshole family thinks everything is about them. It isn’t. And if you got your head out of your ass, you might have seen this coming.”
Perking up, I looked to Sammy. She was shaking her head in blank confusion. “I don’t even know who you are,” she said.
He wrinkled his brow. “Maybe not my face, but you know who I am. I’m a Deep Shot, baby. Just like your daddy was.”
My brain short-circuited, unable to comprehend what he’d said. Sammy threw up her hands—so fast that Brick pointed the gun at her nervously. “You’ve got me confused with someone else. My dad was Bastian Sage—a landscaper! He wasn’t a member of some gang!”
“A landscaper?” he laughed. “Nice try. You know he was our fucking leader. Until he stepped down, anyway.” Scratching at his cheek with the gun’s muzzle, he chuckled. “Stop acting stupid. When I saw you rubbing elbows with the Badds, I got it. It clicked. You’d figured out I’d ordered that hit on him and it wasn’t some suicide.”
Her eyes were wild. “Holy shit, you’re nuts!”
“I’m not nuts, I’m a damn go-getter!” His laugh was deep, the edges cracking like cheap pottery. He was unhinged; I wished I’d realized sooner. I’d thought he was violent and stupid, but was he really saying what I thought he was?
I whispered, “You had him murdered?” Didn’t Sammy say his car was found in Newport Bay?
“Yeah, I’ll take the credit for that.” Fuck, did he look proud. “Had a guy do a drive-by shooting, but the dude went all-out and shoved the car off the road and right into the ocean. Points for the extra effort, there.”
Sammy had gone white, her whole body shaking as she stood there. I saw her knuckles crunching, skin straining as she gripped the backpack.
Brick flipped the gun like he was a movie star. “I just needed time. My dad was going to let me lead the Deep Shots, and I had ideas, you know? Wanted to get you fucking Badds out of the picture . . . get you fucked by the police a few more times until your lawyer couldn’t rescue you. Didn’t expect to discover you working with this bitch. Jackpot! Revenge plot spotted!”
He was busy sneering at me. This man wasn’t afraid of spraying his plans at us, because soon, he’d be spraying our brains all over as well.
I just needed a chance to get at my gun.
And that beautiful girl . . . she gave it to me.
Bursting into motion, Sammy chucked something at his head from inside of her backpack. Glittery and surreal, the high heel clicked off his scalp, sending him falling as he groped at the back of his skull.
Any other time, and I would have stared blankly at the fact that not only did Sammy have the shoes I’d thought I’d hidden away in my room . . .
She’s just used one as a fucking weapon.
I didn’t have the luxury of being shocked. My gun was hot in my palm; I yanked it free, aiming it at Brick. I was fast, but he wasn’t scared of hitting someone he cared about like I was.
The muzzle flashed, his first shot worming through my shoulder. He was spinning in the dirt, firing blindly. Bullets pierced the sky, vanishing off into the stars.
With a scream, Sammy dropped to the pavement.
“No!” I roared, pointing my gun blindly. Each and every shot went astray. Brick grunted, half turning as I landed one slug in his upper thigh.
I had one bullet left, but I didn’t waste it. All I could see was Sammy. I stretched over the ground, struggling toward her. I could hardly move, I was leaking life all over the place. How many bullets had he buried in me? My legs weren’t working right, everything was on fire.
Sammy doubled over, leaning on the car’s front tire. Hair stuck to her forehead; she lifted her hand, the crimson staining through her snowy-white dress.
Brick coughed, wiping at his scalp. He didn’t even check the hole in his damn leg. Studying the redness on his fingers, he looked from me . . . to Sammy. Purposefully, he cocked his handgun. “Enough of this.”
No no no no!
His other shots had been on reflex; he’d hit me and her entirely by accident. I didn’t know how bad her wound was; she was cradling her stomach and looking at the ground. I couldn’t even see her face.
If Brick shot her intentionally this time, I knew she’d be done.
My soul was capsizing. I wouldn’t let Sammy die—I couldn’t. Let me die instead; I’d rise from my damn grave, cursing the heavens and guaranteeing that anyone who touched a freckle on her cheek would get dragged back into the cold ground with me.
Fear is the perfect divider for separating you from your fucked-up thoughts.
The last time I’d thought about that, I’d been plowing down the highway with Sammy hanging on to my back. I wouldn’t have guessed that this was where we’d end up someday.
I want to ride with her again.
I want to hold her.
Kiss her.
I wanted to have our damn fairy tale.
As I lifted my pistol, aiming it with the hope that after every fucking thing I’d been through—that she had been through—some karma would give me some luck, I realized . . .
This was it.
One shot was all I’d been offered.
So I took it.