Stay there, buddy. Don’t come home!
“Now Jackson is gonna pay for your selfishness.”
He squeezes my neck a little tighter, and I swear I’m gonna stop breathing soon. Scratching at his hand, I fight his hold on me and glare up at him.
“No,” I rasp. “You let him alone.”
I have to get to Jackson. We’ll jump in the Dodge, then go find Michael. I’ll tell him he’s forgiven, that I misunderstood, that I want to go with him!
Desperation scorches me.
Have I lost my chance?
Will I never see him again?
No! I can’t let my slap be the last thing Michael remembers about me.
I can’t lose him!
“Lemme go.” I grunt, urgency giving me fresh strength. Wrestling Dean’s hold, I finally dare to do something I’ve never had the guts to do before.
I want Michael.
I want to escape with Jackson and get the hell out of here.
So I have to take this risk.
Clenching my teeth, I scratch at Dean’s hand while lashing out with my foot. He yelps when I catch his shin, his hold around my neck loosening enough for me to punch him in the stomach.
My unexpected move buckles him for the second I need to sprint past him and make it out the door.
“Annie!” Rage distorts his voice, turning my name into a roar that makes me stumble on the stairs.
I snatch the railing and steady myself, focusing on each step of my barely thought-out plan.
Run to the garage.
Find Jackson.
Get in the Dodge.
Pick up Michael on the way out of town… if we can find him.
Shit, this is a crappy plan.
Logistics storm my brain, laughing at my futile attempt at escape.
You don’t even know where the keys for the Dodge are!
Michael had them last, didn’t he?
Yeah, and he’s gone thanks to you!
“Annie! Get back here!”
Dean’s thundering boots on the stairwell make me trip, and I catch my hip against the kitchen counter.
“Ow!” I yelp, veering right in the hopes that Dean will assume I’m fleeing left, out the kitchen door.
I’ll head for the diner’s back entrance and escape that way.
Sprinting through the arch, I jump around the tables and wrestle the lock open with my shaking fingers.
I fling the door back, about to barrel through it, when I’m brought up short by a guy I’ve never seen before.
He blocks my way, lightly pushing me back into the diner.
“We’re closed!” I shout.
“I just have a couple of questions.” He smirks. “You obviously work here, so you can help me.”
“We open at five. Come back then.” I go to move around him, but he sidesteps, blocking my way just as another guy in a black suit lumbers through the door, and an even bigger guy behind him.
I’m now facing a wall of stares, none of them pleasant.
What the hell is this?
Asshole Day?
I glance over my shoulder, fear scorching me as Dean appears in the archway. His murderous glare is narrowed in on me.
Oh shit, I’m gonna die.
I spin back, trying to jump around the guy blocking me. “Move!”
His mustache twitches and he steps forward, into my space, forcing me back until I’m squished against the table. The hard edge digs into my butt as I shoot a nervous glance behind me again.
I’m trapped between a bull ready to charge, a creeper who doesn’t understand simple English, and two other guys who look like they stepped off the set of some mafia movie.
Who the hell wears a suit like that, anyway?
I eye up the broad guy with the meanest stare and shudder.
I don’t know who the hell these jerks are, but they—
“We’re closed. You can come back at five,” Dean growls, his anger barely contained.
This is bad. He’s usually pretty good at changing it up in public, but his rage is too close to the surface this time. I pushed it too far. My risk’s not paying off!
“Well, that’s not too far away.” Mr. Mustache grins. “I’m sure you can let us in early.”
“Get. Out.” The way Dean accentuates his words warns me that Jackson’s not the only one who’s in for a beating.
He’ll scar my brother black and blue and then finish off with me.
I have to get out of here. Now!
“The guy at the gas station directed us here.” There’s something cold and lifeless about Mr. Suit’s smile. “He tells me you have an excellent chef.”
“Well, you can find that out at five!” Dean’s voice is rising, but it doesn’t seem to bother Mr. Suit.
He lets out a hard chuckle and smooths a hand down his lapel. “I’m sure you can accommodate us now.”
“Are you deaf?” Dean shouts across the space, shoving a chair out of the way. It screeches on the floor as he storms over to us. “We are closed. Get your butts out of my diner!”
I grip the table behind me, wondering if Dean can distract these guys long enough for me to sneak away.
If only the big guy wasn’t blocking the doorway.
My eyes skirt the room as I subtly try to figure out a new escape plan. I could shoot right, into the bathrooms, lock myself inside, then climb out a window. Am I still small enough to fit through those narrow ones at the top?
Or maybe I could—
The guy right in front of me sighs, then reaches beneath his jacket, pulling out a pistol like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
I gasp and flinch away from him, but he aims the gun right over my shoulder.
Breathing is basically impossible. My escape plan disintegrates as images of getting shot in the back taunt me from every angle.
Fisting the front of my uniform, he holds me steady and waves the gun, indicating for Dean to come a little closer.
“Now, I’m sure you don’t want blood on your nice clean diner floor. All you have to do is answer a couple of questions, and then we’ll be on our way.” Mr. Mustache has a smarmy voice to match his insincere smile.
I strain a little against his hold on me, watching Dean slowly step into view.
He darts a look at me, and then his black gaze is back on the three guys daring to challenge him.
“No one points a gun at me. You put that shit away and let her go.”
Mr. Suit snickers and shakes his head. “What is your name?”
“I’m not telling you a damn thing.” Dean points to the back door. “Now get outta here before I call the police!”
Mr. Mustache scoffs and starts to laugh as well.
Big mistake.
Dean hates it when people laugh at him.
His nostrils flare, a big bear growl firing from his mouth as he lunges for Mr. Suit first.
Size-wise, they’re about evenly matched, but I’m still hoping Mr. Mustache will let me go so he can assist his friend.
I’m just picturing my sprint for freedom when everything turns to liquid horror.
The world starts moving in slow motion.
Dean’s fist is raised, his mouth partly open as he issues a war cry.
Solid fingers that have hurt me so many times in the past are about to thunder-punch Mr. Suit right in the face when…
Pop!
Dean’s body jerks.
I flinch.
Pop again.
It’s a muted, almost unobtrusive sound that makes Dean jerk once more.