Holly couldn't move her right leg.
The pain inside was thrumming up from the discolored skin and exploded in the back of her mind. She sat on the floor, back to the wall, and her body gave a sharp shiver. Frank had taken her phone and she'd watched with tear coated cheeks. He spoke while he wrote the message, narrating everything for her. "Mom says I have to pick up something from the house. I'm there now but I don't want to go in alone. Can you come?" He pressed send and Holly turned her face away, angry that he'd thought through that.
If he would have threatened to kill her if her dad didn't show up, then at least he'd come prepared. Not that Holly had any doubts her father always had a weapon on him, and was even more deadly without one. She smirked at the thought, a dark part of her really wanting to see it. He was the reason she had bruises on her body, and the reason her mother was bleeding in the upstairs bathroom - or maybe even dead. He was the reason her ankle was shattered and all she wanted was to see him suffer. Hearing her sliver of amusement caught Frank's attention.
"What do you find so funny?" Turning her attention back to the older male, Holly glared.
"My dad's going to kill you.. and i'm really looking forward to that." A swift backhand brought blood to her busted lip but Holly didn't even care. Her dad always saved her.
Jon was driving, headed back home when he got the text. His brow furrowed as he read it, but knew it was probably hard for Holly stepping foot inside that place again. Sending her a text that said he would be right there, Jon changed course and headed to the house. It took him about 15 minutes to get there, his eyes scanning his surroundings -a habit and necessity for someone in his line of work- as he walked up the steps and reached the front door. Holly had said she didn’t want to go in alone, yet she wasn’t waiting for him outside, which he found strange. The second indication that something was wrong was how the door was slightly ajar.
Drawing his glock from the back waistband of his jeans, Jon released the safety before he slowly pushed the door open with his foot, gun raised and ready. “Drop it!” It wasn’t the command that made Jon’s blood freeze, but the sight of Frank standing over a bleeding and clearly hurt Holly, with a gun pressed up against her head. “Fucking drop the gun or I’ll kill her.” Jon clenched his jaw, anger and fear swirling inside of him. “Don’t be fucking stupid, Frank.” He growled.
“Shut the fuck up! I’m in charge here. So drop the fucking gun or you’ll get to see your daughter’s brain splattering the wall.”
If it had been anybody else at the end of that barrell, Jon would have taken the shot and dropping Frank’s lifeless body before the man could get another word out. But it was his daughter’s life that was in the line, and that was the reason why Jon hesitated. Because even if he knew he could make the shot, that he could save her, what if he missed? What if she shot Frank and somehow the other man’s gun discharged. He couldn’t risk it.
“Fine,” he said, relaxing his hold on the gun and and taking his finger off the trigger. “Nice and easy. It’s me you want so why don’t you let the kid go?” He tried reasoning with the man, lowering his gun to the floor. “Kick it towards me!”
Jon clearly wasn’t pleased with the command, but he complied anyways.
Holly watched Frank pace in front of her and frustration bubbled inside of her chest. She'd risk running to the door if he hadn't stomped on her ankle. She might get shot, yes, but she might also escape. It was dark and she was quick. But all that was wishful thinking as she watched the door, waiting for any sign of movement. Holly wanted some way to warn him but her phone was snug in Frank's pocket and there wasn't much else she could do. All of a sudden, the cold end of the barrel was pressed against the temple, a hand full of hair in his fist, and she knew her dad was there.
The second she saw him, all the bravado melted away and she wanted only to run to him. She wanted him to save her like he had before. But then Holly thought about the frat house. She focused on how out of control she had been, how scared, how hurt. She wouldn't be that scared again. Frank didn't get to have that power over her. As her father's gun hit the floor and was kicked across the room, Holly spoke as if Frank wasn't even there. "He killed my mom."
Frank ducked down carefully to pick up the gun and tucked it into his waist band, keeping one pressed firmly against her head. "You're right, Jon. This is between you and me." Lifting Holly to her feet with the grip on her hair, Frank hissed in her ear. "Why don't you listen to your father and make a run for it, hmm?"
As he shoved her forward, habit alone had Holly try to take a step to steady herself but the second there was pressure on her ankle, she cried out and buckled, hitting the ground with a hard thud. Frank watched her grip her ankle while keeping the gun trained on Jon. "Whoops. Looks like she won't be doing much running right now." He shrugged and took a single step forward, coming into the light from outside. "What's ironic is I never liked guns. Even as a kid, I hated them. I swore I'd never touch one in my life until you shoved one in my face. Now who has the gun? Now who's in control?" His voice raised, venom spitting in every word. "You're going to pay for threatening my life, now get on your fucking knees."
Sam was smiling down at his phone as he saw it light up with a text message from Riley. He wasn’t sure if it was even legal for him to be as damn happy as he was - he was sure in a lot of ways it wasn’t right. Mostly because of how it would hurt Kitty and Brody. But Sam couldn’t help himself. He felt excitement and joy every time he remembered that through all the years, Riley - his Riley - loved him back.
He stole a glance at the clock - only forty five more minutes of his shift and then he could go back with her. He could hold her through the night and wake up with her body pressed close to his, together, where they belonged.
The roar of his radio broke through the silence as the dispatcher listed off an address after a 9-1-1 call had been received of possible gunshots. She rattled the address and Sam sat up. That was near him. He responded to the call and turned the car on, taking a second to send Riley a quick ‘Work.’ In his field, he was often called randomly so the short hand was their way to know that something came up and he’d text as soon as he could.
The house he arrived at was dark, and it looked empty, but the door was cracked open. He parked his car and climbed out, walking slowly towards the door. A woman in a neighboring house had her nose pressed to the window. Sam could bet anything she’d been the one to call.
Halfway to the front door, there was a loud bang that was definitely a gunshot. Sam went into cop mode. He reacted and rushed into the house. Gun drawn, he swept the front room and then moved down the hall. When he looked into the living room, he assessed quietly. Two men. Forties. One girl. Teen. One of the men with a gun, hands shaking.
Sam aimed. “NYPD. Put down your weapon.”
Then the man aimed his gun away from the other who was now bleeding from a bullet wound on the right side of his chest. Sam repeated himself but the other didn’t lower his gun.
“I only wanted to kill him. Just him,” the man with the gun groaned. “He’s nothing. He’s no one. He should die. He has to die.”
“No one’s going to die,” Sam growled. “Now you’re going to let these two go.”
When the man started to look away, Sam moved to the side. The sudden shift made the gunman turn back to him. Knowing that he was being watched, Sam stepped to the side and spoke again. “You’re going to let these people go.” He nodded to the man who’d been shot, giving him the non-verbal sign to help the girl out. “You don’t want to end up in jail, do you? Murder will get you put away for a long time. So let’s just let them go and we can talk about this.”
“He deserves to fucking die,” the man growled but didn’t look away.
Sam watched him, eyes trained, but he also watched the man help the girl up and carefully towards the hall.
Frank was simply watching this whole night unravel. He’d had a plan. Get Holly here so he could trick Jon over. Then he’d kill Jon and that would be it. But now Karen was dead, Jon was shot, and Holly would get out of this free and clear - while Frank on the other hand was probably going to end up in jail. No. That wasn’t right. They didn’t get to just walk out of here like that.
Jon put a gun in his face and threatened his life. He wasn’t the type of guy that would just let something like this go. No. If Jon walked out of here, Frank knew that he’d be as good as dead. Jon would come for him and he wouldn’t stop until he made good on that promise he made him that night not so long ago.
His eyes flicked to Jon and Frank knew it would be easy to take a head shot. One head shot and it would all be over. But what if he missed? If he missed, Jon would surely end him right here and now. No. Frank needed to put the bullet where it would do the most damage.
The cop was trying to get his attention but Frank had blocked him out. His eyes dropped from Jon to Holly. “You know Jon, for the longest time, I didn’t think you had a weakness.” But now I know you do, was left unsaid.
He pulled the trigger once - then there was a flash of navy. Frank didn’t think. He kept firing. By the time the gun clicked empty, he could see a pool of red blood soaking the stomach of Holly’s shirt. Jon was kneeling over her. But hers wasn’t the only body. That rush of navy had led his eyes to the second body - the cop - who had three gunshot wounds to the chest.
Frank’s hands shook as he dropped the gun and backed up against the wall. What had he done? @uesria
