Page 88 of Degrading Her

I had blacked out that first night that we met, but the memories became clear.

It had always been Sawyer.

Erica twisted Sawyer, making him face the hallway so he could watch me leave. She pointed with her gun toward the front door.

“It’s that way,” she said.

I walked down the hallway, holding myself against the wall. Everyone lied. Everyone manipulated others. Even me. I had lied to my parents about dropping out of medical school, and I hadn’t even told Maisie about what was going on with Sawyer. Sawyer hadn’t lied, but he hadn’t exactly told me the truth either.

What difference did it make?

I wanted to trust him. And I wanted to believe him. He had been watching over me after all of this time.

He was the man from the bar years ago.

The person who had played me in a game, just to make me fall.

And he had given up his family’s legacy to set me free.

Why give it all up now?

Did he really love me?

Erica took brass knuckles to his skull, blood crossing her body in slow motion. Sawyer’s eye swelled shut. His face puffy and red. One open eye on me. His mouth moved, telling me togo.

The gun laid behind her, next to other weapons.

I pushed myself back to them. Holding myself up. I had to get there. Had to do something. Had to be quiet.

I leaned on the table, then grabbed the gun, holding it up.

Sawyer was a violent man, but I knew that now. And I knew, deep down, that he truly loved me.

I wasn’t supposed to kill. Nothing in this world made killing okay.

But I owed him this.

I shot the gun, the bullet hitting her in the shoulder. She jolted, then stared down at the wound. I pulled the hammer back and shot again, completely missing her, but the third bullet got the back of her head. She fell into Sawyer. He stood up, letting her body fall to the ground. His eyes rushed to me.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I fell to my knees, the surging pain of tears clogging my chest, but they wouldn’t fall. I wanted the release. But nothing came.

“It’s okay,” Sawyer whispered. He kneeled by my side. “Nothing is going to hurt you now. I won’t let it.”

I snuggled into him, and he flinched—I must have touched one of his bruises or cuts.

“I won’t let anything hurt you,” he kept saying. Did he say that to comfort me, or to comfort himself? Did it scare him to know that she had drugged and beat me like that?

He did love me.

I shuffled as best as I could without bumping into him, then looked into his eyes. “What do we do now?”

“She put the keys in her pocket,” he said.

His handcuffs!

My face twisted, thinking about touching her dead body, but I held my breath and checked her pockets. She was stillwarm and heavy. I found the key, then stumbled back, trying hard to keep steady. Finally, I got his handcuffs unlocked, letting them drop to the floor.

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