Save Me If You Can by Christina C Jones Read Free Book Online Page B

herself.
    She tripped over something as she moved forward. She fell, and her face connected hard with the polished hardwood floor, but she kept her grip on her weapon, and got back up. Her ears rang from the booming gunshots, and the air was smoky, but she was alert. She counted three figures slumped in the path before her to the window, and to her right, Renata had eliminated another three on her way to cautiously peer through the shattered glass.
    Behind her, there was a commotion, and Naomi’s mind and body fell out of sync. She turned to the source of the sudden noise, weapon raised and ready to fire, but a second later she recognized Marcus as he barreled toward her, concern brimming in his eyes.
    She felt hollow as he pulled her into his arms. She barely registered the bitter, coppery taste of blood pooling in the space between her lips and teeth, or the acerbic scent filling her nostrils. Looking around him, the bodies on the floor caught her attention again, and this time it registered, in razor-sharp clarity.
    She’d done that.
    Bile rose to her throat, and she pushed away from Marcus, sinking to her knees. The men wore masks, but their cold, blank eyes were uncovered, cruelly taunting her with the hard truth that she’d taken lives.
    Her chest heaved, and her gun clattered to the floor. She recognized that things were happening around her, yelling, heavy footsteps, more gunshots, but she felt dizzy, sick, and disgusted. Naomi’s hands shook as Marcus grabbed her again, trying to haul her up from the floor, but she shoved him away, to stand on her own.
    Where are the girls? Are the girls okay?
    She ignored Marcus’s confused words as she headed for the pantry. She almost tripped again as her feet connected with something heavy and fleshy on the floor – another body. Naomi froze, not taking another step as that horrible night flashed again in her mind. One, two, three lives snuffed out, in a matter of minutes. She saw the bodies on the ground, pools of blood gathering around them. She saw her father, pleading for his life, and all of the strength left her knees.
    Marcus caught her before she could hit the ground. She slumped in his arms, conscious, but weak under the heaviness of her heart. The memory of Damien Wolfe’s voice taunting her father just before he pulled the trigger made her skin crawl, multiplied the nauseous feeling clawing at her gut. She closed her eyes, and there was blood everywhere. She opened them, and there was blood everywhere still.
    A sob lodged in her throat, right behind the guilt, which was behind the fear, which was behind the anger. She clutched her stomach as pain sliced through her lower abdomen, echoing up to her chest as she remembered how hard she’d hit the floor. All of those emotions waited in line behind the gut-wrenching knowledge that this, all of it , not just today, not just that night, it was all too much. Pain swept her again, and distantly, she heard Marcus speaking, but his words seemed distorted. The stress, anxiety, constant danger… there was no way she—
    It was just too much.
    She pushed her way out of Marcus’s arms again, turned her head, and emptied her breakfast onto the floor.
     
    &
    Terry had always been quick to jump the gun. If there were one weakness, one fatal flaw in such a man, it would be that he reacted too swiftly, with too much finality, and with a level of confidence he'd be wiser not to feel. But that was Terry. He'd always been that way, no patience to think things through and finesse a situation to work in his favor.
    Damien Wolfe was abundantly clear on two things: who he was, and who Terry was, and neither of them was a good person, by anybody’s definition. Powerful? Yes. Fair? Mostly. Good? Hell no. Through the years, Damien had often wondered exactly what Terry had on God. What terrible secret did that bastard hold over omniscience, omnipresence, omnipotence, that he should be granted such continued favor in his dealings?
    He