Thirty-Six and a Half Motives
Page 101

I wasn’t prepared for the first kick to my ribs. Nor even the second. I started to crawl toward the door, all my thoughts bent on escape.
A loud noise shook the building, and pieces of the ceiling rained down upon us. But if J.R. was worried, he didn’t let it show. He acted as though he had all the time in the world. Grabbing me by the arm again, he hauled me to my feet, even though my rubbery legs refused to hold me up.
Fight, something deep within me screamed. Fight.
I clung to it.
He released my arm and grabbed my hair to hold me in place, leaning his face so close to mine I worried he was going to kiss me. Instead, he laughed. “Not so pretty now. And not so tough. You’re all talk, Rose Gardner, but don’t feel too badly. Most people are.”
My anger exploded.
I spat blood and saliva in his face, and then I grabbed his arm holding my hair as I kneed him in the thigh where I’d shot him the week before.
He shouted and released me, stumbling backward and landing on the floor in front of the office door. He clutched his leg, cursing.
With my escape blocked, I tried to reach for the gun, but my hand was too shaky to get the gun out of my pocket. I scrambled into the closet, praying that Mason was close to getting himself loose from the chair and could help.
Horror filled his eyes when he saw me. I could only imagine what I looked like.
“Oh, my God. Rose.”
I shook my head, which felt like it had been driven through with a spike. My intention was to help him get his legs free now that both his hands were unbound, but nausea washed over me and I threw up.
“Rose!” Mason shouted in warning, so I wasn’t surprised when J.R. grabbed the back of my coat and started to pull me backward. My shirt slid up as I scooted across the floor.
Smoke filled my nose, and I looked back to see white wisps of smoke floating in under the door. If J.R. didn’t kill me, the fire would.
I made a last-ditch effort to get my hand into my pocket. I made it this time, but getting the gun out took more coordination than I currently possessed.
J.R. rolled me over onto my back, pure happiness shining in his eyes. “I knew you’d be a fighter.”
I heard gunshots on the other side of the door, but while a distant part of my mind wondered if Kate had shot someone else, I couldn’t think about that right now. My mind was a jumble of thoughts I could barely put together. I had to accept that the gun wasn’t coming out of my pocket. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t shoot him through my coat.
“You won’t win this time,” I said, hoping he understood the words in spite of my swollen lips. I started to get up but couldn’t find the energy. “I’m stopping you, J.R. You won’t hurt anyone ever again.”
“Those are big words for someone who’s about to die.”
“If you’re gonna finish me off, do it with your bare hands. I don’t think you have it in you.”
He grabbed the front of my coat and lifted me to my feet, shoving my back to the wall. I let out a grunt as I hit, just before his hand tightened around my throat.
My hand was still in my pocket, but my mind was already addled, and the lack of oxygen wasn’t helping. I wasn’t sure where the tip of the gun was pointed. For all I knew, it was aimed at my feet. But if I didn’t shoot soon, I’d pass out from a lack of oxygen.
I twisted my wrist and angled it upward, hoping I wasn’t pointing it at my own head. Just as my vision started to fade, I squeezed the trigger, thankful I didn’t feel the sting of a bullet—but J.R.’s grip didn’t loosen.
More gunshots rang out in the factory, sounding closer than before. I squeezed the trigger again just as the door burst open.
Smoke billowed in from the outer room, and a dark figure entered with it, but I couldn’t see a face. Then again, I couldn’t see much of anything anyway.
More gunshots filled the room, which surprised me because I was pretty sure I hadn’t pulled the trigger of my gun.
Then Mason burst from the closet, tackling J.R. to the ground. Mason stayed down with him, repeatedly punching him as I slid to the floor.
“Deveraux, we have to go,” Skeeter shouted above a roar. “This whole place is going up.” He was next to me in seconds, looking me over. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
I nodded, starting to sob.
“Deveraux!” Skeeter shouted, about to scoop me into his arms.
Mason climbed to his feet, but when he leaned over to haul J.R. up, another gunshot rang out. Mason’s body slumped sideways and he fell to the floor as J.R. climbed to his feet, holding his gun. His smile was wobbly as he took a step backward.
“Mason!” I screamed.
Skeeter pushed me down and then stood, shielding me with his body as best he could, his gun trained on his old mentor. But there was no way to shield every part of me. I was a sitting duck.
“It’s over, J.R.,” Skeeter said. “Just give it up.”
“I taught you better than that, boy,” J.R. sneered, pointing his gun in my direction. “I taught you to never give up.”
“You taught me a lot of things that I should have never listened to, but I’m tellin’ you now. Give it up. You’ll never get out of here alive.”
“You’ll make sure of that, won’t you?” J.R. taunted, then coughed.
“I think we can reach some sort of compromise. A trade.”
Mason was still lying on the floor, not moving. I swallowed my rising terror and the urge to crawl over to him. To do so would compromise Skeeter’s safety as well as Mason’s. I had to wait this out.
“What kind of trade?” J.R. coughed again and placed his hand to his chest, which I realized was covered in blood. His? Mason’s? Both?
“I’ll let you walk out of here without any further injuries if you agree to leave without hurting anyone else.”
J.R. laughed. “You think I’m going to trust you?”
Skeeter rose to his full height. “I give you my word.”
“Your word?” J.R. shook his head in contempt. “Since when did James Malcolm give his word?”
Skeeter remained still. “I’ve changed, Simmons.”
“You’ve gotten soft.”
“No, I’ve found something worth fighting for.”
“Her?” J.R. scoffed. “Why is she so special?”
“She’s taught me that life is meaningless without people to share it with.”