Page 63 of Bleeding Blackheart

Violet makes a noise, and I sob against her face, squeezing her tighter. “Get out of here, Gunner. You don’t want to do this. Think of Margaret.”

When I look into his eyes, I see years of suffering. He shakes his head at me frowning, and I stand up slowly, approaching him with my hands up. He grits his teeth, and when I get closer, he sets the gun down, dropping his shoulders.

I wrap my arms around his large frame, holding him close, wishing today never came.

After Dallas got the bodies removed, I got Violet put out of the way in a separate stall from where the disaster took place. Gunner paced around the field for an hour, and once he got tired out, I managed to get him in the house and upstairs. He sits in the wicker chair in his room in his soiled clothing while I get the shower going. He hasn’tspoken since we were in the shed, but I’m hoping his voice will come back in the morning.

Once the water is warm, I head back to the room and start undressing, putting my clothes in his basket. When I go over to him, he looks up at me like he wants to say something, but he just frowns, dropping his head.

He weighs a lot more than me and is several inches taller, but I brace myself against his dresser to help him stand, and I help him remove his shoes, shirt, and pants, getting him undressed. I take his hand in mine, pulling him toward the bathroom gently. “Come on, baby.”

Gunner barely hangs onto my hand while I lead him in the bathroom, but I manage to help him in the shower, grabbing some washcloths and soap on the way in. I step in behind him, pulling the glass door shut.

Leaning his head against the shower wall, he starts to cry again, and I pick up a cloth, wetting it and wiping down his body gently while the water washes over us. It’s frightening seeing him like this. Silent. Broken. Devastated.

Something in my brain tells me to leave. I just destroy everyone’s life that I enter. First Charlotte. Now Gunner. I start to cry again while my brain tells me I should just be alone.

After getting myself rinsed off, I add some soap to the cloth and start washing his body. It takes a lot longer todo than mine with his height and broad shoulders. Once I get his backside entirely clean, He turns around, facing me, and I wash his front.

He looks so tired and empty. It’s probably almost two a.m. at this point. We’re not getting enough sleep, but it’s hard to sleep when you’re constantly looking over your shoulder.

Once I’m clean, I wash his hair quickly, wanting to get him into bed as soon as possible. He lets me maneuver him out of the shower, and I get both of us dry. The ends of my braids are damp, and I take out my ribbons, leaving my plaits in place while I slip on my bonnet.

Too tired for pajamas, I lead him back into the room without our towels, pulling his blanket back so he can get in.

For the very first time, I’m not a prisoner in this house, but I’m more scared than I was when I was first brought here. There’s death in the air, and I can’t get myself to relax. But when Gunner starts to cry again, I turn all of my attention to him. I pull his head into my chest while his damp hair clings to my shoulders, and when he wraps his arms around my waist, I rock him as best as I can, holding him close until he falls asleep.

27

Gunner

Ijolt at the sound of a crash, and when I sit up, I see I’m in my bed in my room, but Montana’s not here. My eyes go to the bathroom, and when I see the door open with the lights off, I flick on my lamp quickly, needing to know where the hell she is.

When I turn to my bedside table, there’s a note with scribble on it.

Please forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye. I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you, and I can’t cause you to suffer anymore.

-Montana

Is she serious? I get up quickly, grabbing my aching head before I slide into underwear and a pair of pants, getting ready to see what the commotion downstairs is about.

I hear a gunshot from the kitchen, and I grab my shotgun propped against the wall, bolting down the stairs.

Some guy is in my kitchen wrestling Montana, and she groans against his hand while he reaches for his gun that’s across the room.

The glass pane in my front door is broken. This bastard broke in here. I don’t care what the fuck he’s here for, but he won’t be getting it. I point my gun at his head and fire, causing blood to get all over Montana’s face and clothes. His limp body collapses on the wood floors, and Montana sits on her heels, crying.

It’s just past four a.m. and I already feel like I need a beer. My horses immediately come to mind, and I’m crippled when I realize that what I saw a few hours ago wasn’t a horrible nightmare. But I don’t have time to mourn my girls anymore. They’re gone, and I’ll never see them again. And right now, I have to take care of my girl who’s still in front of me.

I do a quick perimeter check and take a look around outside to make sure there’s no one else lurking around. The car this idiot drove here is on my property, and I’ll take a look around in it before I have Dallas dump it.

As soon as I’m back inside, I pull Montana up off the ground and shake her delicate body. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Her body trembles, and she sniffles. “What?”

I grip her arms tighter than I should. “You were just going to leave me, Montana.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see her suitcase up against the wall. “You were just going to walk out of here in the middle of the night to nowhere without even telling me. To get yourself kidnapped again, raped, or killed. You were going to leave me.” Desperation leaks from my words, but I don’t care. I’m shocked, and I’m hurt.

Her voice cracks, and she shakes her head. “I don’t want to leave you, Gunner.”

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