Page 82 of Whispers of My Skin

This isn’t your fight, and I want you to live.

If I wasn’t so angry, I’d be in tears, but I refuse to give Oscar the satisfaction of seeing me fall to pieces. If I’m going to die, I’ll do it with dignity and my head held high.

“Do you understand everything now, stupid little Tara? Because this conversation is boring me,” he says, raising his gun. “We’ve wasted enough time chatting.”

Joel moves again, moaning my name, and despite the vicious beating he suffered, he struggles to his feet. Although I fear for his life, I’m also fiercely proud of him.

My husband, the untamed warrior.

Horrified, I see Oscar aiming his gun at Joel, his hatred and malice mixed with a whole lot of crazy—not a good combination. His mad ambition has shot his warped mind ever further down the spiral of insanity. It’s obvious that Oscar is a psychopath, with no conscience, no better nature to appeal to.

So with nothing to lose, I resort to desperate measures and launch myself at Oscar in an attempt to wrest the gun from his hand. I take him by surprise, which gives me a brief, fleeting advantage, but he’s still much stronger than me. All I can do is keep kicking at his groin until I finally manage to land a good hard kick to his balls, and the bastard falls to the ground, writhing in agony. On behalf of all women, I offer up a quick prayer of thanks to the good Lord above, for leaving all men with such an accessible point of vulnerability as their testicles.

Breathless from my exertions, I lunge for the gun to kick it out of reach. Joel looks on from where’s he’s standing, and at this point I’m not sure if he wants to punish me or kiss me. But what did he expect, that I’d just stand back and watch Oscar shoot him?

“Not so fast!” A female voice cries out.

When we both turn around to see who’s joining the fray, Oscar takes advantage of the distraction to grab the gun again.

A shot is fired.

My world falls apart.

Joel.

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