Page 68 of Protecting What Is Mine

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Mollie

I can’t be sure if I actually swallowed any of the whiskey or if I breathed half into my lungs and spit the other half out as I almost died coughing. Every instinct in my body tells me to stay down and keep coughing until I can be sure there’s no more poison. But when I see the look on Roger’s face as he watches and laughs…I won’t give him the satisfaction. I collect myself, taking shallow breaths as I stand. Then, as calmly as I’m able, I slide my chair away from the table and take my seat.

“From the looks of things Dollie, you’ve got a lot to learn.”

While it’s still difficult to breathe fully, his condescension about what I know or don’t know is the catalyst I need to channel my anxiety and fear into something useful. I pick up my glass and slide it toward the bottle. “Oh yeah? Why is that?” I ask in a strained and raspy voice. “Because I don’t have much experience drinking whiskey straight? Or because I don’t look at the world through eyes set on trying to take what doesn’t belong to me?”

Roger picks up the bottle and refills my glass—and no half measure either—to the top, just like the first round. “That’s right. I’m a bad guy because I never saw the point in slaving away day after day at a dead end job, so I could earn just enough money to always be broke.” He fills his glass one more time before setting the bottle down. Roger shakes his head at his statement then tosses the drink back. “No. I’m not a bad guy because of that. I’m a bad guy because I’ve got the stones to do for myself what most people won’t. Because they aren’t strong enough for it, but they aren’t strong enough to own that much truth about themselves either. That’s why a guy like me has to be the bad guy, so honest folks like you have someone to blame. Someone other than themselves.”

Without breaking eye contact, I pick up my glass and sip the amber liquid. “And what about me? Whatever your plan is for me, it’s obviously something you can’t bring yourself to do without getting totally wasted first. Does that not make you a bad guy?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Roger says as he shakes his head.

I lean in. “You shot an innocent man. On his own land, no less. You sent your son out to harass and intimidate his cousin. And why? Out of fear that I would figure out what you’d done and turn you in? And now you kidnap me and bring me out to the middle of nowhere. I don’t think it takes a psychic to see what the future holds for me.” It’s clear that my future dwindles with each passing moment. My uncle plans to use that gun of his. And soon.

Roger’s eyes narrow as he looks me over and I wonder if he sees the difference I feel. I’m not trying to act brave. Not anymore. No, knowing your fate is a strangely freeing sensation. I mean, at this point what have I got to lose?

Roger finally looks away, turning his attention to the table, or rather, the gun laying in front of him. I look too, wondering just how drunk he is and if I’d be fast enough to grab it before he did.

“You know Dollie, that’s where you’re wrong,” Roger grumbles, still focused on the gun. “I did shoot that man and you know what? I don’t feel the least bit bad about it. It was his bad luck, plain and simple. That’s the way it goes. Sometimes you’re dealt a good hand, other times you aren’t. Either way, you don’t blame the dealer, that’s just nonsense.”

I can see it in his body language…the reason he won’t look at me now. He’s trying to work up the courage to pick that gun up and use it.

As silence settles in the room, I focus on the gun too. Hopeful that I can work up to reaching for it before he does.

And then all hell breaks loose.

I jump at the sound of someone outside banging hard against the front door. They’re screaming something, but I can’t make out what it is through the banging. Roger’s out of his seat in an instant, gun in hand. He looks over at me and draws his index finger up to his lips. “Don’t you move,” he whispers. “And don’t say a fucking word.”

My brain tries to process what’s happening. Who else would even know about this place? Is this one of his criminal acquaintances? Did he screw them over and now they’ve come looking for revenge? Is it the sheriff, come to rescue me? That’s the only idea I dismiss outright. Hardly anyone knows about this place, no one knows I’m here, and wouldn’t a SWAT team rip the door off the hinges and come in with smoke grenades?

The banging at the front stops as quickly as it started. Roger comes back to the table and turns down the oil lamp, leaving barely enough flame to see anything at all. Then he tiptoes over to a window and pulls back the edge of black plastic.

“Can you see anything?” I whisper. “Who’s out there?”

Roger turns and swats his hand at my words. “Shhh.” He smooths the plastic over the window and tiptoes back to the table. “Maybe some fool kids out drinking in the woods. I don’t see anyone still out there. They probably had their fun and wandered off.”

Before either of us has time to sit back down, the front door bursts open and a figure charges into the cabin with his shoulder down, overcome by his own momentum. “Mollie! Are you in here?”

I’d know that voice anywhere. Relief floods my system. “Hank!” I attempt to run to him but am stopped by an arm snaking its way around my neck and choking me. Then, I feel something hard and cold pressed to the side of my head.

“Who the hell are you, and what do you think you’re doing here?” Roger asks.

“I’m here for her.” Hank replies from somewhere in the darkness. “The sheriff’s already been called. This is your chance to go, just leave the girl.”

Roger stands directly behind me, holding me tight against his body. The stench of whiskey on his breath is enough to make me sick. “Oh, I’ll go. But she’s coming with me.” Roger tightens his grip around my throat and pulls me toward the back door.

I can’t see Hank, but I hear the floor creak under him as he steps forward. “I’m telling you to let her go. NOW!”

Roger doesn’t say another word. When we reach the back of the cabin, I feel him tuck the gun into his waistband and reach for the doorknob. As he quietly begins to push the door open, someone on the other side pulls it back fast, throwing him off balance in the process.

My body reacts before my brain has time to make sense of it. I stomp at Roger’s foot as hard as I can, causing him to release his chokehold and I run back into the cabin and straight into Hank’s arms. “Thank God you found me.”

Roger’s groans from my foot stomp change. The sound transitions into a scuffle.

“Hank!” a voice calls from outside. “A little help.”

“Right.” Hank steps out of my embrace and picks up the lamp. “Be right back. Don’t you go anywhere,” he says with a smile. He steps to the edge of the door, sets the lamp on the ground, and raises his rifle up, taking aim at the men outside. “That’ll be enough now.”

The sound of fighting stops and a few moments later I see Hank’s brother, Gabe, step into the light holding Roger in the same chokehold I had been in a minute before. Gabe nods at me. “She okay?”

“Don’t know yet. I had to come save you as soon as I saved her.” Hank turns to me. “Is there anything around here we can use to tie him up?”

Gabe steps into the cabin with Roger in tow. “If not, I say we keep both barrels leveled at him till help arrives.”

Roger looks worse for wear. His jeans and shirt are stained with dirt and grass. His eye is beginning to swell, and he’s breathing hard. Maybe because of the arm around his neck, and maybe because he was finally dealt a bad hand.

Either way, it’s incredibly satisfying.

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