No.I can’t let him win.
Adrenaline surges through me.I throw the car door open with all my strength, slamming it into Alan.He crashes to the floor, groaning; the gun discharges in the scramble.I’ve lost count of the shots today; they all smell of gunpowder and crack the same.My heart jumps against my ribs.
33
Power Couple
Laird
This is it.I’m going to die here.My body aches, my face throbs, and my stomach burns like it’s on fire.The last hit from Alan throws me into the metal shelf.The edge bites into my temple, and blood wells up immediately.Pain shoots through my head.
I want to fight again, I really do, but my legs tremble like wet noodles.I force myself up, but Alan is already moving toward me.He bends for the gun on the floor—the same one we’ve been wrestling over.My breath catches, pain radiating across my back, making it hard to think.
Slumped and shaking, I summon the last scraps of strength, relying purely on adrenaline.I don’t know if it’s enough to stop Alan, but I have to try.The gun is pointed at my head.I lock eyes with him, right in the center of the barrel.Alan grins, like victory is already his.
I refuse to give up.I have to save Fenella.Each heartbeat slams against my skull as my hand crawls along the shelf.Warm, heavy, long—I wrap my fingers around it.A baseball bat.My last weapon.
“Goodbye, Laird.”Alan smiles at me.
I swing with everything I have at his shin.At almost the same time, the car door slams open, and Alan stumbles forward, groaning.A loud gunshot blares in my ears, but I’m still breathing.The gun tumbles to the floor.I’m not dead yet.
I force my feet to stand and loom over Alan.He stretches his arm, trying to retrieve the gun.I tighten my grip on the bat.My arms scream, but I don’t stop dragging the bat across the floor.Summoning what little strength my battered body allows; I swing it at his head like a homerun shot.Pain jolts through my arms and shoulder, but the impact drives him against the wall.
The bat drops.Alan’s eyes close, his body collapses, helpless.The gun lies a foot away.
“God, you’re… persistent,” I growl, sweat and blood streaking my face.The iron stench fills my mouth.My stomach burns with fresh pain.It’s the bullet wound gnawing at me.
Fenella limps out from the car, rushing to me.She wraps me in a trembling hug, kisses my cheek.Both hands hold me up as I lean against her.
“Are you okay?”I whisper.
“I’m fine, but you’re hurt,” she chokes out, tears streaming, sobs shaking her body.I brush her cheek with my hand, press our foreheads together.
“Thank God you’re safe,” I whisper back.
FBI rushes in, handcuffing Peter and Alan.Golden and the commander step in behind them.
“Did you get them all?”Old Man Golden frowns at the mess.
“Yes,” I rasp, sweat dripping into my eyes.
“Oh my!He’s hurt!”Jessy gasps.
“Finally, manly scars,” Matthew laughs.
“Shut up!Laird’s been shot in the stomach.We need paramedics!”Fenella snaps, panic still flooding her voice.
“Paramedics, four stretchers,” the commander barks into his comm.He searches the car, grabs a black remote, and presses it.The garage wall rotates upward, revealing street lights and the officers outside.
I clutch my stomach, fire spreading through my body.Legs wobble and fail.Fenella tries to hold me up, but my body collapses to the floor.
“Hold on, Laird!Paramedics are coming,” she whispers, letting my head rest in her lap.
“Don’t… cry.I’m… okay,” I rasp.Pain radiates through every muscle, blood soaking my shirt.
Golden opens his shirt, rips his undershirt, and presses it against my wound.
“What… are you… doing, old man?”I frown.
