Page 142 of Merry Fake Bride

Axel punches me rapidly in the face and kicks me so hard in the gut that my entire body contracts inward.

Winded, I gasp against the snow-covered road as Axel kicks me off.

Then he’s on top of me with his hands around my throat and such venom in his eyes.

I grab his shoulder and dig my thumb into the source of the bleeding and Axel screams, releasing my throat and falling backward away from me.

As I scramble to my feet, I slip in the snow but raise my arms in time to block Axel’s next punch.

My left hook cracks his ribs, his knee lands in my crotch and makes me see stars, but I keep going.

Punch after punch.

Ducking his rage-induced swinging arms, he comes at me like a maniac with more speed and ferocity than I’d expect from a man.

I block blow after blow until my forearms are aching.

Sweat coats my skin, creating a sickly contrast between the heat of my shirt and the cold snow.

Then Axel turns away from me and lunges toward Devon where she’s on the ground with both her hands pressed hard over Martin’s wound.

“No!” I leap forward and tackle Axel around the waist.

We land hard enough that my elbow pops and sharp pain shoots all the way up to my shoulder.

As we roll and grapple with one another, our scuffle uncovers the discarded gun on the ground and we scramble over one another to reach it.

His elbow cracks back into my face, and my vision dulls for half a second.

Half a second too long.

He’s on his side with the gun in his hand and I barely blink before it goes off.

White-hot pain shoots through my thigh.

I barely contain my yell of pain as the bullet penetrates my leg.

“Kairo!” Devon yells from somewhere behind me, and my heart breaks.

I’ve failed. I couldn’t protect her.

“You motherfucking son of awhore!” Axel yells, spitting blood down onto the ground as he slowly climbs to his feet, panting heavily. “When you take your last breath, I want you to think about how no one will find your body for hours while I’ll be miles away?—”

A sharp crack rings out like the snap of a whip and Axel’s face contorts.

He stumbles once and then slowly collapses forward onto his knees.

Then, with a groan, he falls face-first into the snow, motionless.

Devon stands behind him, panting, with the crowbar from Martin’s car clutched in her hands.

She drops it almost immediately and dives for Axel’s gun, throwing it far away into the darkness, and then she’s over me with her frozen, bloodstained hands clutching my face and her tears dripping down onto my cheeks.

“Kairo? Oh my God, Kairo, are you okay? I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry! Please be— oh my God.”

Her face loses all color as she glances down to where nothing but hot agony radiates from my leg.

But it’s a distant pain.