Gasoline and copper filled my senses as consciousness crept back in. Every breath felt like fire, every movement agonizing as pain ricocheted through every part of my body.
I blinked several times to orient my vision, my brain slowly clearing. The driver’s seat was empty, and the door was open.
“Thea,” I called out frantically.
I crawled off the floorboard of the passenger seat and cried out from the pain in my shoulder.
Why wasn’t I dead? I wanted to be. But maybe I had a chance. A chance for freedom. This was a sign for me to run. Or maybe this was all a dream.
I took several breaths, looked in the back seat, and my heart stopped. Thea, my dearest friend and ride-or-die sister, was on the floor behind the driver’s seat, her neck at an odd angle, eyes wide open, and face bloody.
Tears propelled out. Even before I felt for a pulse, I knew she was gone.
No! No! No!
When I confirmed my suspicions, I screamed at the top of my lungs. Where the hell was that monster? If he wasn’t dead, he would be when I got my hands on him.
I closed Thea’s eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry. This is all my fault.”
A deep baritone groan filtered into my ears.
Adrenaline, determination, and hatred that could fill up all the oceans on the planet had me stumbling out of the vehicle.
“John, where are you, you fucking monster?”
I was not going back to a cage. I would stab myself with a tree branch if I had to. Then I remembered the gun. I backtracked and checked the glove compartment. No luck. I felt around the floorboard.
I silently cheered when I pulled the gun from under the seat and unlocked the safety.
But when I turned, the bastard himself was standing over me. “You’re not going anywhere, you bitch.” I was surprised he could see with the blood coating his eyes.
The gun felt heavy in my hands, and I wasn’t sure if there was a bullet in the chamber, but I didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.
The sound of the shot echoed through the dense wooded area.
John stumbled backward.
I shot him again. Then again. Then again.
A faint voice was calling my name, hands gripping my shoulders, shaking me.
I gazed up at the tall man with salt-and-pepper hair as tears spilled down my cheeks.
Ted flattened a hand on my face. “Grace.”
“I couldn’t save her,” I cried. “I couldn’t save her. It was all my fault she died.”
“Hey, darling, Andie isn’t dead.” He wiped the tears from my cheeks with the pads of his fingers.
I threw myself at Detective Ted Hughes. He smelled of Old Spice, a familiar scent that reminded me of my biological father. But Ted was far from an alcoholic or abusive man. In fact, he was family. Ted was my brother Dillon’s father-in-law and head of the gang unit for Boston PD.
He rubbed my back. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He guided me to a chair.
I slumped in my seat, trembling. Andie? I needed to see her.
Ted stuck his head out the door. “Jane, can you bring Grace some water?” Then he settled across from me. “Grace, look at me.”
I raised my gaze from my lap and was met with pity on his face. “Why would you think that Andie died?”
