“Eddy!” Boston cried.
“I’m okay. I did it!” I called out.
Silence.
“Keep crawling, you sick fuck,” I hissed out, ignoring the pain in my ribs.
At least my wounds were closed.
The bulk of the stitches had come out yesterday morning. And though they were hideous as fuck, at least they weren’t stitched anymore and were still holding when I did things like shoot a man.
If you could call this person a “man” after what he’d just admitted to.
“Keep crawling,” I ordered.
Lights filled the room behind me, and I froze, wondering what I should do next.
Should I…
The familiar sound of a truck door closing had me loosening a breath.
The keys in the door at the opposite end of the house had me breathing out shakily.
The door opened and then, “Eddy, what…”
His footsteps on the hardwood floor went from calm to panic in a matter of moments.
“I’m okay,” I called out when I knew he’d spotted the blood. “Back here.”
He arrived in half a breath and took in the scene, his body moving to mine as he took the gun from my grasp.
His hold on the gun was confident, steady. Meanwhile, I was shaking like a damn leaf.
“What the hell is going on?” Weaver asked, keeping the gun aimed on my dad.
“He was going to crawl out the back door and turn off the cell phone jammer thing he has going on the back porch preventing us from calling 9-1-1.”
Weaver growled.
“And B’s okay. She’s in our room.”
Weaver growled for a second time.
“Is there anyone else with you?” Weaver asked my father, giving him a kick in his injured leg.
Shit, I hadn’t even thought of someone else being here!
“No,” my father croaked. “I’m by myself.”
“Keep crawling,” Weaver ordered. “Baby, go to the bedroom and get dressed. Keep B in there.”
I left, letting him take over, more than willing to give him the right.
I headed to the bedroom, and Boston peeked out of the closet. “Is everything okay?”
Instant relief at seeing her okay almost knocked me off my feet.
I’d never been more terrified.
