I’d never even been allowed to hold one before.
Cary said that, eventually, he wanted to show me how to use one. He said it was an important part of self-defense, just as important as me taking lessons at the local boxing gym so I could learn how to fight off an attacker.
I suddenly wished the princesses had invited me to join them sooner than we’d originally agreed on.
But it was too late for that.
I didn’t know a single thing about self-defense.
But I did understand the basic mechanics of a gun.
Aim.
Pull trigger.
Anyone could do it.
You just had to be desperate enough.
At that moment, I wasn’t sure a single person on Earth had ever been as desperate as I was.
I flew toward that corner, feeling around on the ground for the metal, my fingertips getting caked in dust and some sort of oily grime that I was trying not to think about.
Behind me, I heard a curse and shuffling as my kidnapper recovered and realized he’d lost his weapon.
He was coming.
Just as that thought formed, though, my hands closed around the gun, still warm from his hand.
I fumbled with it for a second, needing to make sure I was holding it the right way.
It was heavier than I thought.
Though I wasn’t sure if it was actually, physically heavy, or if it felt heavy with the implications of what I was willing to do right then.
Aim.
Shoot.
Maim.
Kill.
But at the end of the day, if it was him or me, I was going to choose me. I was going to choose the future I had started to really fantasize about. I was going to choose the man I was seriously starting to fall for. I was going to choose hope and promise.
And he could rot in hell for all I cared.
I scrambled around, putting my back to the wall for stability, crouching low so I was harder to grab.
Then waiting as I heard him getting closer.
His footsteps moved in tandem with my heartbeat that I could feel in my chest, my temples, and my neck.
“Stupid bitch. You think you can hide from—“
I wasn’t trying to hide.
I was trying to wait until he was close enough that I didn’t miss.
And when he was, I didn’t even hesitate.
My finger curled, the trigger pulled, and the bullet sailed into his body, sending him flying backward.
I didn’t think.
I popped up.
I moved forward.
I stood over the shadow of him on the ground.
And I pulled the trigger again.
Just to make sure he wasn’t going to be able to get up and grab me again.
I was moving again before I fully understood my intention.
Before I realized what I was doing, I was crouching down at the door, grabbing the little pull thing, and dragging it upward.
I had the good sense at the last second to grab for the pull bar, just barely managing to wrap a couple of fingertips around it since I was still holding the gun. But it was enough of a grip that I didn’t immediately fly out the back of the moving truck as the door went up.
A town flashed before my eyes, just splashes of colors. Stores, apartment buildings.
Nothing was familiar.
It could have been a town anywhere.
I didn’t think we’d been driving for long, but long enough, it seemed, to be out of Navesink Bank.
I had to get out.
Which meant I was going to need to jump from a moving vehicle.
My stomach twisted hard at the idea of how hard the impact could be, how much damage could be done.
Ultimately, though, less than would be done to me if I didn’t jump, if the truck slowed, and the driver came back to grab me.
Decision made, I sucked in a deep breath and tossed the gun, figuring if I survived the fall, I could find and grab it, use it to defend myself until I could get help from Cary.
Then, before I could psych myself out of it, I threw my arms up over my head, protecting my face with my forearms, bent downward to tuck my fragile ribs in a bit more, and threw myself out.
I swear time slowed down as I hovered in the air for one horrifying moment before I crashed and rolled.
The impact stole my breath from me, an all-over sort of sensation that made it impossible to tell if anything was genuinely hurt, if something was broken.
And before I could even think past that pain, there was the burn of the pavement raking over my exposed skin.
It felt like I was being flayed, like my skin was being ripped off all at once.
It seemed like I rolled for forever before I suddenly stopped, flopping onto my back, staring up at the sky.
I needed to get up.
It didn’t matter if something was broken or if parts of me were hanging off. I needed to get up. I could assess the damage later.
When I was safe.
Survival mode re-engaged, I rolled onto my side and sat up, pushing back any of the pain that assaulted me at once, turning in the direction the truck had been driving away from, and moving forward.
To be honest, it was a pathetic hobble at first.
It got faster and faster with each couple of steps as my brain started to kick back in again, as I realized I needed to get as far as fast as I possibly could.
That didn’t mean I did it quietly, though.
Oh, no.
I whimpered as I forced my body into a jog, then was actively crying—tears streaming down my face—as I pushed myself to a run.
I came across the gun what felt like too quickly.
I grabbed it and tucked it in my arm, not wanting anyone who saw me to see it.
The last thing I needed was to be traced back to a murder, even if it had been in self-defense.
Think, I demanded, finding my brain oddly sluggish and uncooperative. Think. What do I need to do?
The voice in my head, when it spoke, wasn’t in my usual, familiar tone.
No.
It was Cary’s voice that spoke in my head.
You need to get off the street.
Right. Yes. Of course.
If the truck circled back, there were sure to see me as I ran down the street, practically begging them to pick me up again.
Decision made, I rushed down the next street, finding myself flanked by tall buildings in various stages of disrepair. Some were just old and unkempt. Others were actively falling apart, and likely hadn’t been inhabited by anything other than rats and raccoons in decades.
They would be the easiest places to get into.
But they would also likely be the first place someone would come looking for me.
Another pathetic whimper escaped me as I cursed myself for leaving my damn phone charging on the kitchen counter back at the apartment.
If I had it, I could make one phone call, and everything would be better. Someone else would come and take over. I could just fall into a bed and cry.
But it was useless to think about that.
It wasn’t the reality I was living in.
I had to save myself this one last time.
No matter what it took.
Trying to suck in a deep breath, I got nearly to the next block when I decided to charge up the front steps of an apartment building where the last person to enter hadn’t pulled the door closed, so it could latch. It kept kicking back in the breeze, giving me a chance to run up and slip inside before it slammed shut.
But I went ahead and latched it, hoping the buzzer might be some form of protection to me.
I didn’t know where I was, but it didn’t seem like the best of areas. And it was highly unlikely that anyone would come to answer the door to someone slamming on it and asking for help.