“I was betting the two of you would be fucking in that little room back there,” he goes on.
Motherfucker.
I pull away from Bonnie’s lips as slowly as she does, eyes opening to see the same horror reflected in her gaze that I know is in mine.
Rad…
Rad is in our trailer.
“Pretty damn disappointing that I couldn’t just take care of you without all the…” He gestures to the air with his hands. “Bullshit,” he adds, sighing.
Tears already prick Bonnie’s eyes.
She’s shaking.
“Still… Here we are,” he says. “Hi, ladies. Did you miss me?”
I haven’t moved my hands from her face, haven’t dared to shift away from her.
My gun…Shit. It’s under the bed, along with every other weapon I brought with me just in case.
Still staring at her, I case the room in my mind, trying to remember what all is here—glass bottles, fire extinguisher, headphones, pens—
Knife.
Bonnie squeezes my wrists. I twist my head a fraction, heart beginning to pound as Rad rises to his feet.
Fuck… He has his own gun.
I slowly begin to move my hands to hers, and as I shift, Rad lifts the gun.
“Nothing fucking funny,” he says, and I finally look at him.
His blond hair is messy, eyes bloodshot and paranoid. The security tee he’s wearing isn’t the same as the venue’s shirts. It’s from a few years back, the fabric pilled and faded. I don’t understand how he’s here, even more confused as to how the hell he got a gun in here.
The number of permits I had to show to get mine here was a nightmare.
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” he says.
I kiss Bonnie’s knuckles and whisper, “I love you,” before stepping in front of her. My hands release hers and bend at my waist, showing that I have nothing in them.
He isn’t going to hurt her.
I’ll gladly take the bullet today if she’s safe.
I got to love her, and if that was all the time I was allowed to hold her in my arms…
“How did you get past security?” I ask.
Because I need to know who I missed.
He tugs on his shirt. “You think an old t-shirt is going to matter to a bunch of old guys scared shitless of what happened at Radio Eleven?” He scoffs. “All they cared about was that I looked like I could fight.”
“They didn’t look very hard, did they?” I peer toward the weapon. “And the gun? How did you get that in here?”
“Benefits of causing an uproar,” he says. “They didn’t think twice about not letting me inside—not after I got the guy they wanted on the ground.”
“What a fucking hero,” I mock.
