Page 106 of Oliver

At some point, Oliver must have hidden his gun because when he holds out his hands palm up, they’re empty.

After he steps out, I follow, my heart thumping when he steps in front of me.

The man cocks his head and I silently seethe. Does he look into his devastated wife’s eyes and feel anything?

Asshole.

“She doesn't know anything, let her go,” Oliver growls.

The man tsks, waving the gun. “You over there.”

“No,” Oliver says, and I wince.

What the hell is he doing?

“I didn't ask,” he barks, and Oliver slowly shakes his head.

“You’re gonna kill us anyway. Why should I make it easier for you?”

Glancing down, I spy Oliver’s gun tucked in his waistband. The man stares Oliver down while he backs into me.

With a lick of my dry lips, I carefully pull it loose, keeping my eyes trained on Mr. Cook.

Oliver tenses and I pause but it’s so quick I don’t think the fucker notice’s especially when Oliver says, “You won’t get away with this.”

Mr. Cook’s eyes harden, and he points the gun at Oliver’s face. A sob escapes me and his eyes flicker as he meets my gaze.

For a moment they seem to soften before he says, “Move!”

Oliver takes a single step away, and I raise the gun, pulling the trigger but nothing happens.

With a grunt, Oliver rushes the man who’s swung his massive gun toward me.

“Ah!” I cry, dropping to my knees and fumbling with Oliver’s gun.

Oliver slams into the man with a growl and they stumble back, hitting the wall. I can’t see much but a tumble of hands as I stand and search the tiny space.

The gun won’t fucking work. Probably because I’ve never used one in my life.

Other than the dead girl still staring into nothing, there’s not much in the way of a weapon.

Instead, I stand uselessly as they grapple for the gun still clutched in Mr. Cook’s hands.

“Fucker,” Oliver grunts, his arms wrapped around Mr. Cook’s middle.

The gun is squished between them, and I fall back when it discharges, my ears ringing in the aftermath.

When Oliver staggers back, I whisper, “No!”

But when he turns with a frown, I sag to find him blessedly free of injury.

Unfortunately, Mr. Cook is no worse for wear, but Oliver takes the chance while he’s stunned and slams his fist into his head before grabbing the gun from his hands.

After pointing it at Mr. Cook’s head, he growls, “Game over. I win, motherfucker.”

Mr. Cook bows his head before mumbling, “Just don’t let her find me.”

“Your wife?” I rasp. “Oh, so it’s okay for her to find that poor soul in there?”

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