“Don’t move!”
He tilts his head. “Did you check that the gun is loaded?”
Despite the immense heat in the boathouse—even Easton has started to sweat—a chill creeps down my spine.
I didn’t.
And Easton knows that. He nods.
“Because what was Dad’s first rule?”
Always assume the gun is loaded. But Easton doesn’t wait for me to answer.
“So ask yourself”—Easton takes another step toward me—“why I would leave a loaded gun lying around, when I didn’t plan on using it?”
I can’t think of a reason through the panicked alarms sounding in my head. Is this another one of his games? One of his lies?
The safety is off. Red means dead.
But is it loaded? He’s right. I didn’t check because I assumed. Like Marcus told me to.
Easton lunges at me, the ice pick arcing over his head.
I pull the trigger.
Fifty-Two
The gunshot is deafening. The bullet hits Easton mid-lunge and he goes flying backward.
He was bluffing. Itwasloaded.
Blood spatters Miles and Valencia in little droplets.
Valencia cries out as Easton hits the floor hard, knocking over the chair I was tied to.
I stand there, staring at his body. My ears ringing.
I shot him.
Valencia’s voice drifts through the ringing and the brain fog of shock. Calling my name over and over.
Nate’s name.
I turn to her.
“Untie us!”
Right. I run to Miles first.
“Are you okay?” He gives a grunt beneath the duct tape. His eye is bleeding—a line of red down to the duct tape that follows the curve of his chin—but it focuses right on me, so he should be okay.
The ice pick is on the ground, near Easton. He’s face down, and blood smears across the floor where he landed. But he isn’t moving.
I stand and step over him, watching closely for movement. But he’s still. And I don’t think he’s breathing. I snatch up the ice pick and jump back over him to Miles. Using the ice pick, I carefully poke a hole in the duct tape around his forehead, then rip it wider. I leave it there for him to take care of when he’s free, because I know it’s going to rip out hair.
I do the same with his mouth, and he takes several gasping breaths, thanking me. Then I cut his arms and legs free and let him pull the remaining tape around his head and mouth as I go to Valencia.
“Are you okay?” I ask as I take care not to accidentally stab her leg with the ice pick.
