Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“Is anyone else in Blue Creek involved?” Austin asked. I saw his hand twitch, moving over the back of his pants. Did he have a concealed weapon in there? If I went ahead with my plan, then would that ruin Austin’s?
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. What do I do? What do I fucking do?
“No one,” Sheriff Pope said, shaking his head. “This town is full of useless, spineless, pathetic people. It’s no surprise the two of you fit in so well.”
He was lifting his gun again. I had milliseconds to decide on what to do. Probably even less than that.
So I decided to act. Now or literally never. Exploding into action, and before the sheriff could even realize what was going on, I jumped from my chair and grabbed the gun from the floor, standing and aiming in one fluid motion. Milliseconds was all it took for me to pull the trigger, the sheriff’s shocked expression set directly in my sights.
Trigger pressed.
BANG.
The sheriff dropped like a bag of lead, slumping onto the ground, shouting like a bleating sheep, blood pooling from his shoulder and the shotgun dropped to the floor. I held the gun in the air, pointed at nothing but the far wall, shock freezing me completely in place. I couldn’t even blink. Austin was saying something, but it came jumbled through the ringing. He put a gentle hand on mine and lowered the gun, taking it from my hands, pulling me into his arms, telling me “it’s all right, we’re okay, you’re okay.” I hadn’t realized I was crying.
“Holy shit, holy shit,” I said, pulling away from Austin. He went over and took the shotgun while administering some quick first aid to the sheriff, stopping the blood. Pope was as steeped in shock as I was and only stared at me with eyes about to pop out of his skull.
“You did good, baby. You saved us,” Austin said, returning to my side. He kissed my forehead, a declaration of relief. It brought me back down from the heights I’d climbed after just shooting a man.
“Holy shit,” I repeated.
“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” Austin asked, turning me away from the squirming sheriff on the floor and walking us out of the farmhouse.
“I—fucking shit.” A body-racking shiver passed through me. I took a deep breath of the ocean air, tasting the salt mixing with my sweat, grateful that I had the chance to fill my lungs. “Hank. I remembered taking shooting classes with him. He had suggested it, and I ended up being a natural. Thankfully, my amnesia doesn’t fuck with learned skills.”
“Thankfully.” I saw something akin to admiration in Austin’s eyes, mixing with the deep exhaustion that came into use both as the adrenaline and fear pulled back as if with the tide.
“It’s over,” I said. My hand found Austin’s, my heart finding home. I rested my head on his shoulder.
“You don’t have to be scared anymore. No more looking over your shoulder. Not to mention, you took down the head of a fucking sex-trafficking ring, and we’ve got the name for the other head of the snake. You saved our lives.”
“Damn. That is pretty badass.”
“Very badass,” Austin said, chuckling, a sound at incredible odds with the blast of a gunshot that still echoed in my ears. “It’s all smooth sculpting from here on out.”
I laughed, adding to the odd chorus but easing some of the tension still wound through my spine. “I love you, Austin. So fucking much.” I kissed him again, his salt mixing with mine, with the ocean, his lips working as a balm for my frayed-as-fuck nerves.
“I love you, too, Char.”
We held each other, not letting go even when the cops arrived on the scene. We didn’t let go of each other on the ride home or in the quiet shower. I didn’t ever want to let go of Austin again. I’d come too close to losing him twice already; there wasn’t going to be a third time, never again.
Smooth sculpting—or sailing, depending on who you asked— from here on out.
Epilogue
CHARLIE MARSH
Our suite looked out to the picturesque blue waters of the Gulf of Maine, the waves crashing onto the dark stones of the cliff our bed-and-breakfast was delicately perched on. I rolled over and squeezed myself further into Austin’s arms as he sleepily stretched, feet slipping between mine, legs turning into stiff boards behind me, matching another couple of stiff boards in the bed.
It was our first time back at the ocean since everything went down, nine months ago now. The first night was difficult for me, and I had more than a few nightmares that kept me up and staring at the dark ceiling, but I’d always fallen back asleep with the comfort of knowing Austin was right there next to me.
It was our last day into our weeklong vacation, and I found myself waking up feeling like an entirely new man. Everything in my life was going exactly how I dreamed it would: a perfect man, a dream job at an animal sanctuary, a new place, and the person who wanted me dead was now locked up behind bars for an extremely long time.