You Know I Need You (You Are Mine #4) - Willow Winters Page 0,67
off, flying through the air and ricocheting off the car. Crouching down, I get in another punch, stunning the dealer. It’s cold and the freezing air bites into my white-knuckled fist. Over and over I feel my muscles tighten, gripping onto his collar, then letting the rage pour out of me, blow by blow. My teeth grind against one another as I don’t hold back a damn thing.
Crack! The prick’s jaw snaps and I feel the bones crunch under the weight of my fist. I see the images that haunted me for weeks.
Andrew pulls back his arm and lands a single solid punch to my cheek. It’ll bruise, but it barely affects me. Nothing can pull me from this haze of vengeance. My head snaps to the side as another punch lands on my chin. I throw all my weight forward, pushing him to the ground and feeling my body fall on top of his, slamming hard onto the concrete sidewalk.
“Fuck!” he screams out just as I pin him under me and throw punch after punch. His nose cracks under one of them; I don’t know how many I get in. I can’t stop.
“Evan!” Mason cries out, his fingers prying into my shoulders then my chest, desperately pulling me backward, but I get one more hit in that snaps Andrew’s head to the side and for a moment, I think he’s dead. He lies there nearly lifeless. Blood’s covering his face and soaking into my knuckles. Red lays in streaks everywhere.
Andrew spits blood onto the street next to him and coughs it up as I attempt to rein in my heaving breaths.
“Snap out of it. It’s not the plan.” Mason repeats, “It’s not the plan. This isn’t the plan.” There’s a ringing in my ears that won’t quit. One that balances out my tunnel vision and the stinging pain that shoots from the split knuckles on my hand.
When I finally catch my breath, Mason is on top of him on the ground, pinning him down. Andrew knees Mason in the stomach, desperately trying to win a losing fight. But I’m too quick, grabbing his own gun and shooting him once in his thigh.
I don’t want to kill him. That’s not my job to do.
He’s not for me. But I’ll be damned if I didn’t love beating the piss out of him.
Andrew screams out in agony and Mason, still wincing and holding his gut, socks him right in the mouth.
Mason catches his breath as he slowly stands up and Andrew stares up at us, begging for mercy.
“Are you Andrew Jones?” I ask him and he hesitates to answer, so I fire a shot off right next to him.
“Yes!” he screams. “Fuck! Yes!”
I crouch down in front of him, gun still in my hand. “The same Andrew Jones that left those messages for Samantha? The ones convincing her to murder her husband?” The blood drains from his face as I talk. I’m not some dealer looking to get more turf. I’m not a cop. True fear permeates the air as the fool shakes his head. “The same Andrew Jones that gave her tainted coke so she could end his life and pay you half of what the insurance company was going to give her?”
“I don’t know any Samantha …” he tries to lie, and I shoot off the gun again, feeling the shockwaves run up my arm. It’s closer to him this time and Andrew screams out.
“He pissed himself,” Mason comments and when I look, sure enough, his sweats have a dark wet ring around him. He’s pathetic.
“That Andrew Jones?” I ask him.
“She wanted him dead!” he yells. “She was going to do it whether I helped her or not.”
“You can tell her husband that; I’m sure he’ll understand,” Mason says and then tosses handcuffs at his feet. “Put those on. First your feet, then your hands.”
“Please,” he begs. But there’s no mercy for what he’s done.
It takes a good fifteen minutes to tie him up. The gagging was the hardest part.
The trunk slams shut, and the dark night seems so empty. Empty is what I needed, though. It’s done and over.
Mason turns the car on, the keys jingling in the ignition before it roars to life and we leave in silence, listening to the fucker in the back. It’s already starting to snow. They’re calling for ten inches and that will wash away any evidence of us being here. Not that anyone will come looking for a while. Like he told