Page 129 of Myla: The Hawthornes

“Richie is definitely not dead,” he said through a chuckle.

“Don’t come any closer.”

“I think you know where he is,” the guy said, ignoring me.

I had the distinct impression that he was stalking me, trying to get close enough to rush me before I could get back into the RV.

“I know where his ashes are,” I retorted. “Now you need toleave.”

“Hey, I know you,” the man said, taking another step forward. “You’re the brother’s girlfriend. What’s his name? Cian, right?”

I couldn’t let him take another step. I was clutching my purse to my stomach, the strap wrapped around my back.

“You have no idea who I am,” I replied. “Get the fuck in your car and leave.”

“We could have fun, you and me,” the guy said, a smile in his voice.

Something about him waswrong. The situation was wrong. I didn’t understand what was happening, but I knew with a certainty born of instinct and my dad’s voice in my ear—this was going to end badly for one of us.

It wasn’t going to be me.

“Man, I’m not sure if you’re hard of hearing or just a fucking dick,” I replied. “But you need toleave.”

He laughed again, and my heart started beating at the base of my throat.

“I really need to find Richie,” he said, ignoring my words as he started toward me. He wasn’t running, but he was moving quickly. I only had a couple of seconds before he reached me.

I didn’t bother running. I knew it would be a waste of time. Instead, I let the purse swing back down to my hip and lifted the gift my brothers had presented to me on my twenty-first birthday.

He made it close enough that one of his hands tangled in my hair before I was able to pull the trigger.

Unfortunately for him, I didn’t panic. I didn’t try to wrestle him away.

I shot him.

His other hand wrapped around my throat.

I pulled the trigger again.

I gasped, trying to breathe, but I didn’t try to pry his fingers off my neck. I knew better than to try and grapple with him. The moment I lost control of the gun, it was over.

It only took a couple of seconds before his eyes widened, like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. As he fell, he ripped big chunks of my hair out, taking them with him.

He coughed and rolled to the side, one hand pressing against the wound in his torso.

I took a few steps back, holding my nine-millimeter steady.

I wanted to help him. It went against everything inside me to leave him struggling on the ground, but instinct kept me back. I could still feel the echoes of his fingers gripping my throat.

Shaking, I pulled out my phone.

It rang twice.

“Hi, baby girl, where are you?” my dad answered.

“Daddy,” I whispered, swallowing down the bile in my throat.

“Myla,” he barked, his tone changing completely. “Where are you?”

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