Page 26 of Toxic
“What are you doing here?”I ask, glancing around wildly, as if I’ll be able to pull the answers from the ether. It makes no difference. I know why he’s here. I’d be lying if I said I wasn't expecting to see himagain.
As he pushes his way inside and closes the door behind him, I realize he’s changed clothes. He isn’t wearing the standard issue prison uniform anymore. I squint as he comes into the light, trying to make out what he’s wearing. Then it dawns. The pants are so familiar because I see them at work every day. They’re from an officer’s uniform. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out he must have overpowered the one in the back of the ambulance and escapedsomehow.
I swallow around the lump in my throat and ask the question that has knots forming in the pit of my stomach. “Did you . . . did youkillthem?”
He raises a brow. After a pause, he says, “No, I didn’tkillthem.”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say his voice sounded almost tired, but that can’t be possible. The energy coming off him in waves has my pulse responding in kind. Adrenaline kicks up and ignites in my blood. As he advances, I take matching shuffling steps backward. With one eye on him, I look for a weapon, nearly seething. I’m sick and damn tired of being hunted in this house. Of being terrorized and bullied by menlikehim.
Instead of backing away, I charge in his direction. He isn’t expecting my sudden movement, and this time, my shove catches him off guard and knocks him into the wall. Pictures dislodge and rain down, crashing to the floor in a spectacular shower of broken glass. His hands come up to block as I attack with my fists, unleashing a whirlwind of pent-up frustration on any part of him I canreach.
My fury knows no bounds, and I slap, punch, and scratch every available inch of his skin. Unrecognizable sounds tear from my throat, and soon I’m panting from exertion. My nails rake down his cheek and score along his throat, breaking the skin. He curses and takes both of my wrists easily into one hand and pins me against the sofa withhiships.
“Why are you even here?” I scream at him. “I did what you wanted. I got you out.Youwin!”
His body goes still, and he presses as close to me as he can. My heart leaps into my throat, and my pulse trips overitself.
“What if I want you?” he asksquietly.
My lips part, and for once, I don’t have a retort. That is the last thing I ever expected for himtosay.
When I manage to speak, it’s more like a croak. “You’re certifiable,” I say, and try to squirm away from him. “After all the shit you pulled, you come back for what? A booty call?Screwyou.”
He ignores me and says, “Comewithme.”
My brain simply shortcircuits. “What?”
The grip on my wrists loosens. “Come with me. Now. Let’s leavetogether.”
“You can’t be serious,” I exclaim. “You just killed a man! I’m not going anywherewithyou.”
“Dead serious,” he replies. “You can’t stay here, so leave with me. I can keepyousafe.”
“Keep me safe? You’re on the run from the cops! I just helped you escape prison.” A laugh escapes me then, and I double over with it, my head going to his chest as the emotions bubble over. “I guess that means I’ll be on the run from thecops,too.”
He tips my chin up. “So runwithme.”
I don’t get the chance to answer his question because Vic chooses that moment to walk in the front door. My heart drops to my feet, and my body turns to stone. Gracin doesn’t hesitate to shove me behind himself, guarding meagainstVic.
This can’t behappening.
Vic’s eyes find us in the living room, he lets out a puff of breath, and his eyes go wide. The expression would be almost comical if the situation wasn't so dire.His cheeks color with rage and a vein at the corner of his temple begins to throb as he takes a step forward . . . and runs right intoGracin’sfist.
If I thought he was capable of violence before, it’s nothing compared to the beating he unleashes on Vic. The sound of fists meeting flesh reminds me of all the times Vic did just the same thing to me. A voice inside my head tells me I should intervene. I should tell Gracin to stop, that we can just leave, anything to get him to quit, but I can’t make myself say the words. I derive a sick, twisted satisfaction from each pained sound, each connected hit. It’s the vindication I didn’t know I was looking for. Vic’s face is covered in blood, and his eye is already swelling, but Gracin keepsgoing.
“Fuckin’ piece of shit,” he says, grunting with the effort it takes to heave a bobbing Vic back to his feet. “How does it feel,motherfucker?”
“Fuck you,” Vic says, spitting blood and earning another punch. The resultant crunch causes him to squeal, and his head lolls back, blood spurting fromhisnose.
Gracin prepares to levy another hit when Vic lunges to the side and grabs a lamp from the side table. It isn’t a cheap one, either. So, when it crashes into the side of Gracin’s head, I call out, “No!” as he crumples to the ground by the coffeetable.
I scramble to his side, feeling for a pulse and am swamped with relief when it flutters against myfingers.
I don’t have time to properly examine him before Vic stumbles to my side and pulls me to my feet with a fist wrapped in my hair. Instinctively, I pivot, gun in hand. I’m not blind to the fact that I didn’t pull the weapon I’d saved to protect myself againstGracin.
Vic barks out a laugh. “You think you’re gonna use that on me, girl?” His hand comes away covered with spit and blood as he wipes his face. “You don’t have the goddamn balls.Fuckin’cunt.”
Gracin groans at my side as I square my feet, gun raised and trained on Vic’s imposing form. “Shut up and stay where you are,” I tell Vic. “One move, and I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in that big cocksucker ofyours.”