Page 34 of A Burning Rage

I nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

I unbuckle my seat belt and open the car door as Shane exits the vehicle. My heart is hammering. This whole nightmare may come to an end soon, and we’ll be able to go on with our lives as normal, at least for a long while.

As I step out of the Jaguar, I glance across the way as Richard Morton steps out of his vehicle. The rear passenger door opens next, revealing Andrew’s gaunt face peering outside. I watch as he steps out of the car, his gaze sweeping the area. As he slips his hands into the front pocket of his gray pullover hoodie, his gaze latches onto me.

Without warning, Andrew pulls a small black handgun from the pocket and points it right at me. His hands are shaking.

“You’re going to pay for ruining my life, you bitch!” he yells.

And then everything happens so fast.

I hear pounding footsteps coming around the back of the Jaguar and a deep shout. “No!” It’s Shane, his voice low and guttural.

My heart stutters in my chest, and I can’t breathe. My blood turns to ice.

Richard Morton stares at his son in horror. “Andrew, no!”

Andrew grimaces when Shane steps in front of me, his arms spread wide.

“Put the gun down, Andrew,” Shane says, his voice surprisingly steady.

“Shane, no!” I grab him by the waist.

Andrew’s gaze is wild as he stares at us. “Move!” he demands of Shane, his gun shaking wildly. “Get out of the way!”

“It’s me you want,” Shane says, “not Beth.” Suddenly, he sounds so calm and rational. “It’s me you’re angry at, Andrew.”

“I know!” he yells. “And the best way to get back at you is through her. I want you to suffer the way I have.”

Richard Morton attempts to take the gun from his son, but Andrew pushes him hard, knocking him off his feet.

Suddenly, Shane’s promise plays on a loop in my head. I won’t let him hurt you. Trust me.

Shane takes a step toward Andrew, and when I try to grab him and pull him back to me, he pushes me behind him, hard enough I hit the passenger door of the Jaguar.

He takes another step just as the deafening crack of a gunshot shatters the air.

Two things happen at once.

Shane is blown back by the impact of the bullet, crashing into me, before he drops to the ground like a stone.

Then I hear three shots fired in rapid succession, and Andrew falls backward, hits his father’s vehicle, and slumps to the cement floor. A bright red stain blooms across his chest. A woman screams shrilly, and I glance up to see Andrew’s mother staring at her son’s body.

“No!” I scream, dropping to my knees beside him. I start to reach for him, but my hands hover frantically over his torso. I don’t know where to touch him. “Shane? Can you hear me?”

He lies still and silent before me, his eyes closed. His chest rises and falls, thank God. He’s breathing. My heart stops when I see the blood oozing from his abdomen through a hole in his shirt.

I glance up to see my brother standing beside us. He holsters his gun and pulls out his phone. He strides over to Andrew’s body and kicks Andrew’s gun underneath the sedan, well out of anyone’s reach. A moment later, he’s telling a 911 operator to send police and two medical squads. Even as he gives orders over the phone, he drops down beside Shane to check for a pulse.

“He’s alive,” Tyler says into the phone. “One victim down, gunshot wound to the abdomen. White male, thirty-eight years old. He’s got a pulse and he’s breathing, but he’s unconscious.” Tyler pauses a minute to listen. “The shooter is dead.” Another pause. “Yes, I shot him.” To me, he says, “Beth, take your sweater off. Wad it up, and press it to his wound.”

With shaking hands, I do as he says. As I hold the fabric to his abdomen, I notice I’m kneeling in a pool of my husband’s blood.

No, no, no, no. This can’t be happening!

My ears are still ringing from the sound of gunshots, which reverberated loudly in this concrete cavern. “Tyler?”

“Hurry,” he says to the 911 operator. “He’s losing a lot of blood.”