Page 69 of Texting Mr. Stranger

I nod. “Yeah. We haven’t got long.”

“Okay,” he nods.

I know it’s going to happen a few moments before it does. It’s like his whole face changes. His entire demeanor, his personality even, becomes that of somebody else. He narrows his eyes with this savage focus. He’s almost scary—this man I love. Isaid thatbecause I wasn’t sure we’d have enough time together, but I meant it.

He lunges forward and grabs my shoulder.

“Stop!” I yell. “Let me help.”

“No. Damn. Way.”

“Matt!”

He pushes me into the en suite with complete control of my arms and my shoulders. The only thing I’d be able to do is kick him, bite him, but it wouldn’tstophim. There’s no way I’ve got it in me to do that to him.

I grab the handle when he closes the door, but I can’t turn it. Then, suddenly, it gives way, and the door flies open. I rush for the main bedroom door, push that, and it crashes into something cumbersome on the other side. I push against it again, yelling, “Matt, not on your own! Let me help. Please!”

He’s barricaded me in here.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

MATTEO

My mind is cold. My senses are honed. I’ve narrowed my existence down to the cold fact that a child’s life is in danger. It wasn’t long ago I burned this man’s Family, took his pride, and ruined his life. Not that long ago, I gave him every reason to hate me. Well, hateme. Take it out onme.

Not my sister, not an innocent child, and damn sure not my lady.

“I love you, Bella,” I whisper as I tuck the weapon into my waistband and jog across the street.

The bite of life-or-death feels close as I run around to the side entrance, finding a fire door. I know this could be the end. I could get this kid killed.I love you, Bella, I whisper in my head as I hammer against the door. My drunk voice is good after so many years of fooling different people.

“Cigarettes … bum … some …gotasmokeorwhat?”

When I hear footsteps, I slide to the edge of the door near the trashcans.

“This a game or something?” somebody grumbles, the door whining open.

I see the little girl first. She’s got a teddy bear in her hand. I’m going to have to traumatize her for life. This isn’t an action movie or a comic book. There’s no way around it.Fuck.

The man appears, a knife pressed against the back of her neck. From his leanness and the security footage, I can see it’s Orlando. He looks like what he is—a dreg, an afterthought, somebody we didn’t even bother learning about until after all the real heavy hitters were dead.

He spots me and opens his mouth. He’s going to make a damn fine threat, I’m sure. He’s going to say a lot of intimidating things that would work on most people. Most people haven’t seen pools of blood, haven’t caused them.

Too bad for him that I’m faster. I lunge forward at the same time he tries to, his eyes widening, his mouth open but in surprise. The bullet cuts through his open mouth. The girl screams as I pull her away from him, and it’s a good thing I do. The rat’s last act in his miserable life is to try to cut the child.

With a raised voice, I spin. Some big fucker holding a shotgun steps into view.

The girl turns at the worst possible time. She sees the whole thing, but there’s no way I can shield her from this. It’s the cold fact of the world, the heartless goddamn agony of it. Sometimes, it makes me sick.

I shoot him four times in his big, thick body, and then I take the girl and hold her, putting her face against my chest so she doesn’t have to see.

Taking out my cell, I call Elio.

“Where the fuck are you?” he yells. “We just got a call that they’ve burned?—”

“That was a decoy,” I say wearily. “He tried to spring a trap on Bella. I’m standing over his corpse.”

“Shit.”

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