Page 108 of Revenge (Elite of Elmwood 3)

Boom!

The gun went off.

Someone screamed.

A girl.

But it couldn’t have been Kenna, she was still gagged, which meant… that someone was me.

A jolt went through my right side, just above my hip. I stumbled. The room erupted into chaos, but I saw and heard very little of it. My ears were ringing, and I went into shock.

I didn’t register the pain. Or the blood. Not even when I hit the ground. A cold numbness had moved through me.

“Call 911!” someone shouted.

Brock dropped down on the ground beside me, and an overwhelming gust of relief swept through me. But it was short-lived, as I saw a stain of blood on his shirt. Had he been shot?

It didn’t make sense. There had only been one bullet, I thought. Then again, not a lot was making sense at the moment.

“What the fuck, Firefly.” Brock tugged me into his arms, cradling me in his chest, legs spread out on either side of me. I thought he might have been paler than me.

“I’m sorry,” I gasped.

His hand pressed down on my side, slowing the blood flow. “Don’t talk. You’re going to be okay. Do you hear me? I refuse to let you die.”

A weak snort breezed through my nose. I’d had a helluva night, and I imagined I looked quite the fright.

His hand pressed firmly against the wound at my side, my blood coating his fingers.

“I hate blood,” I whispered, my head falling to the side. At this rate, I would be covered head to toe in it. The side of my temple and hair were still crusted from the wound I suffered in the car accident.

Grayson had Carter shoved to the ground. He had tackled him right after the gun went off, and ripped the weapon from Carter’s grasp. Fynn could barely restrain Grayson as he struggled to get him off Carter. I don’t know how many times he had hit Carter. “I should fucking kill you!” my brother seethed, shoving the barrel of his gun into the side of Carter’s head.

Carter let out a bitter laugh. “Do it. What do I have left to live for?”

Grayson pressed the gun deeper into Carter’s flesh, his hand trembling with rage. “You better hope she lives. Or you will beg for death.”

Police sirens rang in the distance. “Let him rot in jail,” Fynn said, tugging Grayson off Carter. “Death is too easy of an escape for him. He will live in hell every day.”

Carter had shot me. He had kidnapped Kenna, held her hostage. Not even his daddy would be able to get him off with a slap on the wrists this time, and that, combined with his full confession, meant Carter was going away.

Finally. I could rest.

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