Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
I squeeze my eyes closed, then cover my face when he does it again and again while shouting and cursing. With Kourtney whimpering in distress behind me, I pull my hands away from my face when I hear a thud, and then my eyes widen when I find him on his knees with his hand against his chest, heaving like he’s struggling to breathe. My eyes shoot to the gun he’s still holding in his hand, then to his face.
He looks panicked as his eyes lock on mine.
Scrambling to my feet, I start to rush toward him but stop when he tries to lift his hand holding the gun. He’s lost whatever strength he had. He can barely lift his arm.
“You’re having a heart attack; we need to call an ambulance,” I tell him, and he shakes his head. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Fu-ck you,” he wheezes before falling to his back. I glance back at Kourtney, who’s looking at him with wide eyes.
“Go search his stuff for a phone,” I tell her, and she shakes her head. “Now!” I scream, and she clambers to her knees and crawls across the space to his bag.
I slowly move toward him with my heart pounding so hard I feel nauseous. When I’m close, I reach down for his hand holding the gun, and it takes me a second to pry it away from him, but I get it.
“I can’t find a phone,” Kourtney says, sounding panicked.
“Take this.” I hold the gun out toward her, and she starts to shake her head. “Take the gun and go hide it outside,” I say firmly, and she comes over to me, physically shaking. Once she has the gun and is running to the barn door that is closed, I drop to my knees and check him for a pulse. He has one, but it’s barely there.
Shit.
Running my hands over his pockets, I dig out Kourtney’s keys but can’t find a cell phone on him.
“Okay,” Kourtney says out of breath. “I hid it.”
“He doesn’t have a phone,” I tell her, holding out her keys. “I want you to drive to the nearest house and call the police, then bring them here.”
“You want me to leave you with him?” She backs up a step. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Yes, you are. I’m going to stay with him until help gets here.”
“Olivia.”
“He’s dying.” I shove the keys at her as tears fill her eyes. “I don’t have time to argue with you. Just go get help.”
“Please come with me.” She takes the keys with her hands shaking.
“I can’t leave him like this.”
“Olivia.”
“Just go.” I drop my eyes to the man in front of me and feel for a pulse again. It’s so weak I barely feel it against my fingertips.
“I’ll be right back,” she whispers while I start CPR and say a silent prayer that she gets back here before it’s too late to save his life.
With my body exhausted and my arms aching, I look at the man I’ve been performing CPR on for what feels like forever and squeeze my eyes closed when I feel for his pulse but find nothing. “Come on, you idiot,” I whisper. Dropping my head between my shoulders, I swallow over the urge to cry and go back to performing chest compressions between doing mouth-to-mouth. When I hear the sound of sirens getting closer, my eyes start to water, but I keep trying, keep hoping that the next time I check his pulse, there will be something there.
I don’t know how much time passes, but I hear footsteps approach, and then someone yells out.
“Police.”
“We’re in here!” I shout back, lifting my head in time to watch a uniformed officer with his gun drawn scan the room from around the edge of the door. “Help,” I choke out, and he quickly cuts across the distance between us.
“Give me some room, darling,” he says, and I fall to my bottom, wrapping my arms around my shins as I watch him and a second uniformed police officer move to each side of his body and start doing CPR.
“Olivia.” I look over at Kourtney, and my eyes start to water.
“I don’t think I saved him.”
“It’s okay, come on.” She helps me to my feet, then walks me out of the barn as two paramedics rush past us. Once I’m out in the open air, I take a deep breath of clean air and watch as a trail of vehicles flies up the dirt road we drove on to get here.
“Do you want some water?” an officer asks, approaching us.
“Please.”
“Come on.” He motions for us to follow him to his car. “Are either of you injured?”
“No.” I hear a vehicle come to a sliding stop in the gravel behind us and turn to look over my shoulder.
“Olivia,” Bax shouts, leaving his door wide as he jumps out of the cab of his truck. The look on his face is tortured as his gaze meets mine through the dim light coming from the vehicles now surrounding us, and my heart squeezes.