Page 70 of Hell On Heels
She miscalculated, coming around the table too fast. Shannon was waiting. A brutal kick snapped Lottie’s head back, sending her hard to the floor. For a second, everything went white.
Lottie rolled onto her back, instinct kicking in before thought. Her hands flew to her face, pain blooming sharp and immediate. Her right eye blurred almost instantly as swelling began to take hold.
She forced herself to move anyway. Footsteps closed in. Shannon stepped into view, then over her. Straddling her. Lottie’s breath caught.
Shannon crotched down slowly, invading her space completely. Too close. Close enough that Lottie could feel Shannon’s breath against her skin, smell her.
Her nose brushed near Lottie’s ear as she leaned in, inhaling like she was memorizing her. The barrel of the gun dragged lightly back and forth over Lottie’s head.
Left. Right. A lazy, testing motion. Lottie squeezed her eyes shut. This was it. The thought came clean and cold. She was about to die.
With her left eye still in focus, Lottie watched the gun drift away as Shannon turned toward the front door. Footsteps running fast coming up the steps. Shannon shifted, aiming toward the sound.
Lottie didn’t hesitate; she drove her elbow back and up with everything she had. It connected hard with Shannon’s face. The impact sent her tumbling backwards, breaking her hold and knocking her off balance.
Twisting sharply, Lottie kicked out, catching Shannon and knocking her off balance. She followed it immediately—punching out, forcing the fight back onto herself, keeping Shannon focused on her instead of the door, instead of whoever was coming.
Blindly, she lunged for the gun. Her hand closed around it. The second she had it, Shannon was on her again.
They struggled for control; the weapon wedged between them as they fought for leverage. Lottie’s grip was tight—white-knuckled, desperate—but Shannon was stronger, fueled by rage and panic.
A fist slammed into the side of Lottie’s head. Her vision flickered, threatening to go black for a split second. A gunshot exploded in the confined space. The bullet struck the floor just inches away, embedding into the wood. Panic surged.
They hit the ground together, rolling hard across the kitchen floor, neither willing to let go. Lottie shoved with everything she had, muscles screaming as she fought to twist the barrel away from her body. Just as the trigger was pulled again, she managed to angle it off target.
In a blink, everything stopped. Shannon’s eyes went wide, then she collapsed on top of Lottie. She struggled to get the woman off of her, pushing herself backward with her feet, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.
Razor had barely dropped the kickstand on his bike when he reached for his gun and ran for the apartment. He was halfway to the door when he heard the gunshot. Busting through it, he was two feet inside when he saw Shannon pointing a gun at Lottie’s head. Without hesitating, he pulled the trigger, hitting Shannon in the back. She crumpled to the ground next to Lottie, her eyes remaining open, staring at Lottie as the life drained from her.
Rushing over, he kicked the gun away. Dropping down next to Lottie, he saw her scrubs were splattered with Shannon’s blood. He moved in between her and Shannon’s body, trying to shield Lottie from additional trauma.
“Are you hurt?”
Lottie shook her head no, pushing herself into a sitting position. “Just my eye,” she said offhandedly as she brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She keptlooking straight ahead. Razor lifted her face so he could see it—swollen and bruising.
Razor picked Lottie up and brought her outside. After setting her down, he called Vicious.
“Razor.”
“Vicious. I’m at the apartment. I need a cleanup,” his voice was sharp, to the point.
“Why?” Vicious asked.
Razor wrapped an arm around Lottie’s shoulders. “Shannon was about to shoot Lottie.”
Vicious was already grabbing his keys. “On my way.”
“No. Just call Truck,” Razor said, stopping Vicious from getting involved.
Vicious knew the deal, and Razor was right. The less people there, the better. Truck was the chapter’s cleaner and knew what to do. “You got it.”
Hanging up, he went back inside to get Lottie a blanket. When he came back, he wrapped her in it, then sat down beside her.
“Is she dead?” he heard Lottie ask.
“Yeah, sweetheart. She’s dead.”
This whole mess was because of her. She should have stayed away from Razor. Now the entire club would know he was part of a sex club. “I’m sorry about everything.”
