Page 26 of Striker's Foul
“Please don’t hurt him,” I beg, panic rising when she aims it at him. I push myself up in the bed, the pain forgotten as my child is threatened.
“I have to take him with me. If I don’t, he will end everything. You don’t understand. He needs you both dead to get the money she left you.”
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. I won’t let her take my child.
I slowly shake my head. “How about you take me instead? I’ll sign everything over to him. I don’t want it.”
I have no idea what money she’s talking about. My mom committed suicide. The insurance wouldn’t pay out on that.
“I promise. Just leave my son here, and I’ll sign it all over. He wouldn’t be named in her will anyway because he wasn’t born yet.”
She nods frantically, then starts shaking her head. The woman is spiraling into mania right before my eyes.
“I can’t. I have to take him. You were supposed to die in the explosion. Then his grandfather would be named his guardian because he’d inherit what you left behind. Then Harold and I could finally get married.”
“Please, no.” I slide off the edge of the bed, praying my legs hold me up.
“No,” she screams, and the gun fires.
I drop to the floor, feeling something wet against my skin. I turn toward where she was, and my heart sinks when I see her dragging Jude out of the room. I won’t let her take my son. A rush of determination fills me, and I push myself up. Blood trickles down my arm and drips to the floor. Jude’s eyes bug out when he sees me walking toward them.
“Angel, no.”
I hear Luke’s voice, but I’m focused on my child. I can’t and won’t let anyone hurt him. I brought his precious life into this world, and I’ll protect him with my dying breath.
I continue toward her, tuning out the chaos around me. Harold’s mistress won’t take my son. I watch as Jude breaks her hold and knocks the gun away from her. He rushes to me, and I push him behind me. She advances.
“I wish he had let me go to Texas all those years ago to kill you then, but he wouldn’t. I’ve had to live without that money because he was waiting patiently. He said he knew you would come back. I’ll take care of you, just like I took care of your mother,” she sneers.
I freeze, trying to process what she’s implying.
“She didn’t commit suicide,” she says, her smile twisted. “She was so weak, it was almost too easy.”
A surge of anger like I’ve never felt before washes over me. I no longer feel the pain of the headache or the shot to my arm.
She moves in and swings at me. I step to the side and grab her arm. With all the strength I can muster, I deliver a strike to her throat, nailing the soft part where her hyoid bone is. Then I elbow the side of her head. She falls back, and the adrenaline drains from my body. Arms catch me just before I collapse to the floor.
Doctors, nurses, and security rush toward us. I’m carried into a nearby room. The woman who attacked me is alive and being detained. My body goes lax, and then everything goes dark.
CHAPTER 7
STRIKER
Itry to pick Amelia up, but my chest pulls. Julian lifts her into his arms and carries her into the room where they had me. The jealous part of me hates seeing my woman in another man’s arms, but I have no choice right now. I lie beside her on the bed, watching as they tend to her wound.
Thankfully, she doesn’t need surgery. The bullet passed clean through her arm. But she does have a concussion from the explosion earlier. She won’t be able to work for a few days.
Jude also has a concussion. He’ll have to take a couple of days off from practice and be cautious of any more head injuries. I’m just glad he wasn’t hurt any worse.
I’ve been advised to follow up with a cardiologist to make sure there’s no lasting damage to my heart. When I was thrown back, a chunk of debris struck me in the chest. The location and timing were just right to stop my heart. I’m grateful my friends had the right tools to bring me back. My ribs are bruised, and I also have a concussion.
The three of us have been admitted overnight. Commander demanded they put us all in the same room. I’ve been struggling to sleep, not just because they keep waking us every couple of hours, but because something else is keeping me up.
If Harold was behind this, then what was his motive beyond the money that woman mentioned? Without direct proof, we can’t tie him to any of the attacks on my family. When I was shot, Harold was confronting Amelia and Julian in town, more than twenty minutes from the scene. And during the explosion, he was already on a plane back to DC.
It's frustrating that he might get away with it all.
“Luke,” Amelia cries out in her sleep and bolts upright.
