Page 61 of Fast Kill

He bit back a grunt as Frank shoved his shoulders, knocking him back into the wall with a thud. Immediately he shoved away from it and faced the man, hands balled into fists.

Frank’s lips curled back over his teeth in a feral smile. “You wanna hit me, boy?” His eyes narrowed to slits. “Go ahead and try.”

Dillon was angry enough to do it, but he wasn’t stupid. He would have run away over two years ago if it hadn’t meant leaving Taylor here alone. The day would come for him to leave, however. And when it did, Dillon would punch Frank straight in his ugly fucking face, bust his nose and a few teeth before walking out over his unconscious body and never looking back.

As long as he’d made sure Taylor would be looked after first.

A meaty hand flashed out and cuffed Dillon on the side of the head. “Do it. Let’s see what you’ve got, hotshot quarterback.”

Dillon’s knuckles ached from squeezing so hard.

The gleam in Frank’s eyes made Dillon’s throat go dry. This was going to be bad. Every muscle in his body tightened in anticipation of the pain coming his way.

“Huh?” Frank slapped the side of Dillon’s face hard enough to crank his head around and make his eye water. “Let’s go, tough guy.”

Fuck this. He shifted his weight, brought his right hand back.

“Stop!”

Before Dillon could take a swing, Taylor darted in between them, smacking one hand flat in the middle of Frank’s chest. Her face was livid as she glared up at the man. “Leave him alone.”

Frank’s gaze shifted to her and a wave of fear rushed through Dillon. “Taylor, no.” He grabbed her shoulders, tried to push her out from between them, but she wouldn’t budge, fighting to hold her place in front of him.

“Don’t you touch him,” she snapped at Frank, her voice shaking. Afraid but so damn brave as she faced off with their foster father. “You’re drunk, and you’re mean when you’re drunk. He already feels bad enough that they lost the game, but it wasn’t his fault. If you’d showed up sooner, you would have seen all the touchdown passes he threw.”

“Get the fuck outta my way,” Frank snarled at her, his face mottled.

“No. You leave him alone,” she cried, her voice breaking.

Taylor never cried. Would never give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her weak. The sight of her tears seemed to trigger something in Frank.

That angry gaze moved from her to Dillon and back, and it was as though a switch had flipped. He shoved her hand off his chest and swung away, muttering obscenities as he stalked through the kitchen. “Both of you just stay the fuck away from me.”

His bedroom door slammed shut a few moments later. Dillon sagged against the wall and closed his eyes. Two thin arms wound around his waist, and the scent of her shampoo drifted to him as she laid her head on his chest.

Afraid she’d see the tears in his eyes, he hugged her in silence. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Someone has to stand up for you,” she answered. “If I don’t, who will?”

Who will?

No one.

Dillon opened his eyes and stared up at the darkened ceiling of the cheap motel room he’d rented last night. Taylor had always stuck her neck out for him, even when she’d suspected he was up to bad shit toward the end of their time together.

He had no one and nothing until he killed her and the heat was on. The local authorities and several agencies had a BOLO out on him.

After two days of doing everything in his power to finish this, Taylor was still alive. Now his window of opportunity was gone and he was running on borrowed time.

Carlos would have sent others after her by now. Possibly after him, too. The only way to save his skin was to kill her and send proof to the cartel before one of thesicarioscaught up with him.

Rolling to his side, he reached for the prepaid phone he’d picked up at a gas station last night, and dialed Janet. The DEA was probably monitoring her phone now, but he was desperate to find out where Taylor was and had to risk it.

All he needed was to get within rifle range of her and set up a shot. One bullet to the head, and this nightmare would be over.

****

Taylor turned over in bed without opening her eyes, something tugging at the edges of her consciousness.

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