Page 8 of Pieces of Her (Andrea Oliver 1)

What?

“Andy,” her mother said. “I need you to run, darling.”

What?

“He can’t reload fast enough to hurt you.”

“Fuck!” the man screamed, trying to get his rage back. “Be still! Both of you.”

“Andy.” Laura took a step toward the gunman. She was limping. A tear in her linen pants was weeping blood. Something white stuck out like bone. “Listen to me, sweetheart.”

“I said don’t move!”

“Go through the kitchen door.” Laura’s voice remained steady. “There’s an exit in the back.”

What?

“Stop there, bitch. Both of you.”

“You need to trust me,” Laura said. “He can’t reload in time.”

Mom.

“Get up.” Laura took another step forward. “I said, get up.”

Mom, no.

“Andrea Eloise.” She was using her Mother voice, not her Mom voice. “Get up. Now.”

Andy’s body worked of its own volition. Left foot flat, right heel up, fingers touching the ground, a runner at the block.

“Stop it!” The man jerked the gun toward Andy, but Laura moved with it. He jerked it back and she followed the path, blocking Andy with her body. Shielding her from the last bullet in the gun.

“Shoot me,” Laura told the man. “Go ahead.”

“Fuck this.”

Andy heard a snap.

The trigger pulling back? The hammer hitting the bullet?

Her eyes had squeezed closed, hands flew to cover her head.

But there was nothing.

No bullet fired. No cry of pain.

No sound of her mother falling dead to the ground.

Floor. Ground. Six feet under.

Andy cringed as she looked back up.

The man had unsnapped the sheath on the hunting knife.

He was slowly drawing it out.

Six inches of steel. Serrated on one side. Sharp on the other.