Page 13 of Chasing Storm

“No need to hunt me. I’m right outside your door, fondling your gal’s breasts.”

I slip while attempting to rise, stumble forward, and fling the door open. A man shoves a gun into my forehead. Teagan isn’t with him.

“Who’s the big man now?” The guy drives me backwards using the gun, shutting the door behind him with his foot. I raise my hands, walking until my legs hit the couch. “Funny thing happened the other day. I drove here from a neighboring town, and lo-and-behold, I see you and your sweet thing walking down the street.” He leans against the opposite wall, gun trained on me. “And I kept thinking,don’t I know him? It drove me bonkers and then it clicked. A five million hit on you.” I remain quiet to keep him talking. “I could use five million.” He nods his head. “Yep! Quit my job as sheriff. Spend my time fishing. Maybe even keep your girl and fuck her daily.” He’s goading me. “She is a pretty little thing.”

I take a deep inhale to calm the rage. It’s important I gather my wits instead of acting on impulse. My butt rests on the back of the couch. He’s cocky and thinks he’s got me. Years of fighting have trained me to assimilate an opponent, and this guy has neon dollar signs flashing in his head. Since I’m not dead yet, I can assume this is all unfamiliar territory for him. Killing a criminal in the act is one thing. Cold-blooded murder is another. It doesn’t matter how many times you release the trigger or fling a knife, taking a life warrants thought. A reflection on whether you can cope with the aftermath. Or if you have a strategic plan to avoid getting caught. These things are taken into account. But for this so-called sheriff, he hasn’t weighed the costs. My life as a fighter trained me to figure these things out, and I can tell this guy isn’t ready. The slight tremor in his hand. His eyes darting around the room as if he doesn’t know what to do next. Or what I’ll do. A move he failed to prepare for.

My eyes follow his every move. He walks over to the side table, rustling through our mail, flicking the keys on the little lighthouse Teagan bought. Silence makes him nervous.

“So, do you know what’s going to happen next?” Again, I remain quiet. He takes clumsy steps toward the couch as I round it and sit. He taps the gun on my shoulder. “Am I making you nervous?”

A shaky bark comes from him. The sheriff is still trying to figure out what his next move is, even though I already know mine. I glance over his shoulder, positive his gaze will trail mine, which gives me enough time to grab the gun from my ankle holster. He looks over his shoulder and then turns to me and narrows his eyes.

“You think I don’t know what you were trying to do?”

Shit! He comes close enough for me to notice the two missing fingers on his left hand and a gutted scar running from his knuckles to his wrist. I raise my eyes, realizing I missed an important detail. He has a glass right eye. It’s a good replica of the other one, except the tearing in the corners of his eye and the dullness of the retina is a giveaway. There’s no way he saw me retrieve my gun because he looked over his left shoulder. This makes me smile.

“What the hell are you smiling about? Today is your expiration date.” My smile widens.

“Your attempts at getting me off guard are useless. I’ve got you cornered.”

Says the man with sweat coating his face. Putting distance between us, he switches the gun to the other hand so he can wipe away his nervousness. Yeah. He’s got me all right.

I keep smiling, which pisses him off. Small time motherfucking sheriff. He’s about to slam the gun into my head, but I punch him in the stomach as I stand and give another crack to his jaw. The gun drops. I shove him against the wall and before he has time to register anything, snatch his handcuffs and cuff his hands behind him. Tight. With missing fingers, he can contort his hand enough to slip out of them. One more punch to the face, and his head bounces off the wall. I grab him by the coat, toss him on the couch face-down, and place a knee on his back.

“Where the fuck is she?”

“Fuck you!”

My knee digs deeper into his back, causing him to jerk upwards. “If I have to ask again, you’ll be searching for that glass eye and more fingers.”

He squirms under my weight. “She’s fine. Safe.”

I yank his left arm upward, dislocating his shoulder. He howls and I shove a pillow in his face. His legs kick all over the place. He’s shaking his head and mumbling into the pillow, so I remove it.

His face is pale. “She’s in a little shack at the marina.”

I grab him by the back of his coat, open the door, and check to see if anyone is close by. I’m in luck. The sheriff tells me which car is his and I toss him in the passenger seat. He directs me to the shack that’s isolated about a mile from town. From the inside of the shack, I hear screaming, banging, and kicking.

“Tea?”

“Joey?”

Grabbing the keys from the guy, I unlock the shack, and Teagan falls into my arms. I hug her so tight I might snap her in half.

I place her a foot away to check for any injuries. My lips smash into hers, then I’m holding her face in my hands, placing frantic kisses all over it.

My forehead anchors against hers. “Sweet Tea, I thought I lost you for good.”

Teagan’s hands are holding onto my wrists, and her tears drip onto me. “I was so scared.”

I stare into her bubbly eyes. “Did he hurt you? Touch you?”

She shakes her head. “No. No. He held me at gunpoint, threw me in the trunk, and dumped me here.” Shivers run down her spine and spurts of sobs escape. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

I kiss her a few more times, walk her to the car, and yank him out of the passenger seat. “Get in, Tea. I’ll be back in a minute.” Her eyes flit from him to me, and then she gives a slow nod, lowering into the seat.

Fear widens his eyes as he begs for his life. “Please. You don’t understand. I need the money.”

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