Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
And there we have it. ‘I’ll help you, Lauren. I promise I’ll help you.’ I’m surprised I really mean it. I don’t know how I can help her, but, honestly, if it means I get back to my family, I’m prepared to do anything.
‘Will you love me like you love her?’
The words she wants to hear won’t come. I can’t say them. I’ll help her, but I can’t love her like she wants to be loved. ‘I . . .’
She smiles, but this time it’s not malicious. It’s sad. ‘You can’t, I know.’ She points to the stairs.
I take a long breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. ‘Lauren—’
‘You’ve said enough. Just go.’
I close my eyes as I turn, looking up to the heavens as I take the unstable old staircase to the hay store above. ‘Don’t do this, Lauren, I beg you.’ It’s all I have left. Pleas.
I don’t get a reply. What I get instead is the clicking sound of the safety being disengaged. The barn is empty. There’s nowhere to take cover if she gets trigger-happy. I look over my shoulder as I reach the top of the stairs, finding her a few steps behind me. Not too far, but far enough to have the upper hand, far enough to fire before I make it to her should I fight. I’m fucking snookered.
She swallows as she points to a huge opening in the wood looking out onto the countryside. I’ve heard funny things run through your mind when you’re staring death in the face, and currently running through my mind is how beautiful that view is. How lush and green the land is. How this might be the last thing I see.
I approach and widen my stance, my back to Lauren. My mind settles, but determination fights forward. Here, I’m a sitting duck. I’m a dead man. No question, her aim is clear. If I charge her, she’ll be shooting in a rush. She’ll be clumsy. She might hit me, but the chances of her getting her aim right under pressure are reduced.
I turn, every muscle in my body readying. Her head cocks, and she must see the determination in my gaze because she flexes her two-handed grip on the gun. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ she warns.
‘Then just fucking shoot me, Lauren,’ I goad. Why is she dragging this out? One would assume her sick head is enjoying the anticipation of my death. Or could she be searching for the strength she needs to kill the man she loves? I don’t get the chance to reach a conclusion on that. I hear a noise downstairs, the sound of a piece of wood snapping.
My gaze shoots to the gaping hole in the floor where the stairs drop. More wood snaps, the sound echoing through the barn and ricocheting off the walls. I see something emerge from the opening, and it takes me two seconds to recognise who. There’s no mistaking the shiny, bald, black head. My heart lurches as Lauren swings the gun in his direction. And he’s completely unaware. ‘John!’ I yell, making Lauren spin around to face me. I raise my hands in the air and back up until I’m forced to stop or plunge fifty feet from the opening to the concrete below.
‘Motherfucker,’ John breathes once he’s made it safely to the top of the stairs. He slowly pulls off his sunglasses. His nostrils flare. His huge chest heaves. ‘Put the fucking gun down, Lauren.’ Most would heed the threat in his booming voice. Lauren isn’t most. She moves a few paces to the right, putting her at an even distance between both of us, the gun swinging back and forth between our bodies. My head twists and warps, my panic rising. Did Ava click? Did she realise what I was telling her? Then why the fuck didn’t she call the police? Not John, the police!
‘You should go, John,’ Lauren warns. ‘This is between me and Jesse.’
‘I’m going nowhere.’ He’s resolute, and I know he means it.
‘Then you can watch.’
Before I can even register, the gun is on me, her body turning in what seems like slow motion. And she wastes no time pulling the trigger. The loudest bang pierces the air, and my body jolts as John throws himself across the barn at Lauren. My vision blurs, but I manage to see her turning the gun on herself, taking it towards her temple. John roars, and Lauren crashes to the ground. I hear another bang as they roll across the dusty floor. It’s only the sound of Lauren’s screams that tell me she missed.
Numb, frozen, I look down my torso, searching for the dark crimson soaking my T-shirt. There’s nothing. Then there’s something. Pain, fuck me, pain. I hiss and grasp the top of my arm, the blood now found, growing rapidly on my sleeve. The bolts of pain only keep my attention for a microsecond, a grunt from John realigning my focus. Lauren’s made it onto her feet, and she’s still holding the gun. She walks back, struggling for breath, wild eyes darting. She looks disoriented, unsteady as she backs up, the hole in the floor getting closer and closer, the wood all crumbled around the edges. I see what’s about to happen, and for the life of me, I can’t think why I try to warn her.