Dream Of You - Jennifer L. Armentrout Page 0,40

Mickey was. It took a moment for my brain to process the fact that Mickey must be the other man I’d seen him with. “I… I didn’t identify hi—”

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” He shouted, his finger twitching over the trigger of the gun he held. “You’re going to tell me you didn’t say shit? Because Mickey is dead and the Goddamn police raided my momma’s house yesterday.”

I scooted back against the wall, my heart pounding so fast I thought I’d be sick. This was so bad, so freaking bad I could barely process what was happening. The only thing I knew was that I was staring death in the eyes.

His lip curled, just like it had right before he’d shot that man. “Stupid bitch. Lift your hands.”

Swallowing hard, I raised my shaking hands as my thoughts raced. I had no idea how to get out of this. Could I reason with him?

His dark eyes held a certain glassy sheen to them and his pupils were way too dilated as he jerked the gun at me. “Stand up.” When I didn’t move, he screamed, “Stand the fuck up!”

Okay. I was standing.

Slowly, I pushed to my feet, losing the other flip-flop in the process. “We can work this—”

“Shut. Up.” He stepped forward. “What part of that do you not understand? There’s nothing—”

The muted sound of sirens silenced him. Hope exploded in my stomach. Had someone—one of my neighbors—heard my scream and his yelling?

I really needed to thank my neighbors. Bake them a cake or something. If I actually lived through this.

He heard the sirens, and in seconds, the whirling noise grew closer and louder. “Shit. Fuck. Damn.”

My wide gaze darted across the room, searching for some kind of weapon. Unless I could grab a lamp before he shot me, I was screwed, but I had to try something. Through the front window, I could see flashing red and blue lights beyond the curtains. The cops were here and I seriously doubted this guy planned on walking out of here alive or letting me go.

Sudden shouts from the front of the house erupted, and horror settled in as I recognized one of the voices. No. No. No.

A loud knock on the door caused me to jump, sending a wave of dizziness through me. “Abby? You in there?” a voice boomed through the closed door. “It’s Colton. Open the door.”

Before I could open my mouth, the guy lurched forward, slamming into me. The back of my head knocked off the wall. His hand clamped down on my mouth as he got right up in my face.

“Abby!” Colton shouted, and the front door rattled as he or something slammed into it.

The man’s breath stunk of stale cigarettes and booze as he pressed against me. “Fucking cops, motherfucking cops,” he grunted, pressing the muzzle of the gun against the side of my head. “You say one word, I will blow your fucking brains out right now.”

Right now, I thought dumbly. Versus later? A hysterical giggle climbed up my throat. The banging at the front door didn’t stop, but I no longer heard Colton. How was he here? If the police were called there was no way he would’ve found out that quickly. It didn’t make sense, but at this moment, it didn’t matter.

If Colton somehow got through that door, I knew this man would shoot him. My stomach hollowed in fear.

“We’re going to go out your back door, okay?” he said. “And you’re going to make sure I get the hell out of here. You get me?”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I nodded. He was going to use me as some kind of shield, and I knew the moment he got outside, he was going to shoot me. It was either in here or out there, where he’d have a chance to shoot someone else—a neighbor, one of the cops, or Colton.

I couldn’t let that happen.

No way.

I might have the self-esteem of a sloth, but I wasn’t a coward. No. I survived my parents’ death. I survived New York City. I survived my husband’s death. I survived.

I was not a coward.

He grabbed ahold of my shoulder and pulled me away from the wall. With one well-place shove in the center of my back, he guided me through the living room. Someone was yelling at the front door again, but it wasn’t Colton.

“Keep quiet,” he urged, and when I didn’t move quickly, he shoved me again.

I stumbled into the small dining room table. The impact knocked