Page 90 of Finding Home with You

I open my mouth to speak, the slow movement of my mouth, but I press my lips together as I feel the vomit rise up in my throat.

The fear in our little triangle of air is palpable, the heavy breathing from both Ryan and Anthony thumps loudly in my ears over my own pulsing heartbeat.

When I open my mouth a second time, my lips trembling, I force out Ryan’s name, soft and simple, but it draws him back in.

“Put the gun down, Anthony,” Ryan says, the authority back in his voice, as composure washes over him.

Anthony laughs, thick and smarmy, spitting out a simple, “Fuck you,” before pressing his body a little closer to mine.

An involuntary whimper leaves my lips as I feel him force the gun even farther into the base of neck. The barrel is pushed painfully against the vertebrae in my neck and it weakens my knees, making my whole body shudder.

And again my only thought is, he’s going to kill me.

My trust in Ryan balloons, because right now he’s the only person who can save me.

I know not to call Ryan’s name again. The last thing he needs is a distraction, something to break his confidence, taking him away from his negotiations with Anthony. Although I’m not sure there’s any way to negotiate out of the situation.

“You don’t want to kill her,” Ryan says calmly, yet his gun is still pointed directly at Anthony, but the tremor I saw in his hand earlier is now gone.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Anthony shoots back. “You don’t want me to kill her. This has nothing to do with me.”

“It has everything to do with you,” Ryan retorts taking a small step closer. He’s now within a few feet of me; one step forward and I’d be able to reach out and touch him.

He’s so close, yet so far away.

Ryan continues, placating Anthony a little more, “Right now we’ve got nothing on you, Anthony, nothing that would keep you in, but if you kill her, there’s no plea deal, no chance of getting out.”

The space between us is silent as Anthony contemplates what Ryan has just said, tries to process if his words hold any weight. They’re a lie, we both know it, but I can’t tell if Anthony does too. His hand trembles on the gun making it shake against my skin and helping me thoroughly believe he’s scared.

But this is when things can go bad, fear making him uneasy, nervous, and bound to make a mistake.

Anthony’s shoe scrapes noisily on the loose gravel ground and I flinch at the sound. My entire body recoiling away from him out of instinct, but his hand clasps my upper arm, yanking back toward him.

This needs to end soon, because I’m not sure I can take it much longer. My legs are growing weak, my knees shaking uncontrollably as I try to steady myself.

“You’re lying,” Anthony shouts after what feels like hours, reminding me of Ryan’s words and what he said to try to end this. “Do you think I’m stupid?” he asks condescendingly. “I know this place is crawling with cops. You two set me up. You and this lying bitch.”

Anthony’s last word is spoken harsh and angrily, and I feel the gun withdraw from my neck and strike me in the side of the head.

The pain is blinding, crushing and I nearly collapse to my knees, but Anthony’s grip on my arm keeps me standing. A trickle of blood runs down from my temple, leaving a streak of red that I can see out of the corner of my eye.

Ryan lunges forward and at that second Anthony points his gun at Ryan and fires, the word “no” falling from my mouth in a strangled scream as I clench my eyes shut.

The earth stands still at that moment, not a single breath leaves my mouth, but I feel the tears sting my cheeks, warm and salty as they run into my mouth.

And when I suck in that long needed breath and open my eyes, Ryan is still standing.

The bullet wasn’t intended to strike him; it was a warning, a warning to everyone that Anthony isn’t fucking around. The next time he fires his gun he won’t miss.

As soon as it was fired, the blast loud and booming in the open air, Ryan’s team appeared, sliding quietly out of their positions, guns drawn and ready.

But with a single word, they retreated, and once again it’s just the three of us.

“Stop your fucking crying,” Anthony admonishes me as I sob quietly into the open air. His grip on my arm tightening, his fingers digging into my skin despite the winter coat I’m wearing. “You brought this on yourself.”

“Please, Anthony,” I beg, my words hoarse and shaky. “Let me go and I promise I won’t talk to them. Without me they have nothing, I swear to you.” My words are a plea for mercy, for something, for anything that will break his concentration.

“You expect me to believe you?” he bites out, and then lets out a low, eerie laugh making my skin crawl with goose bumps.

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