Page 195 of Trust No One

I snatched the gun from my waistband and pointed it at him. A moment of panic.

And then he laughed. “You won’t shoot me.”

I’d never shot anyone, but I’d gone hunting with my father as a kid. I remembered the nervous, anxious rush that came with pulling a trigger and the power of a bullet leaving the chamber. But I’d never killed anything. I wasn’t sure I could shoot him if it were just us. But for Molly . . .

I leveled the gun, my finger slipping to the trigger.

He moved fast, grabbing the gun as I fired. The bullet fired wild and hit the ceiling. The explosion rang in my ears.

Ken’s face twisted with fury as he yanked the gun from my hands. “That was not very nice.”

Leaning back, I braced for his next attack. I realized he could kill me in a moment of anger. He might regret it later, but I’d still be dead.

My fingers groped over the tabletop, searching for anything that I could use. Smooth, barren wood bred desperation, and then my fingers skimmed the wine bottle’s base. It skidded out of reach.

He lifted me and shoved me back hard on top of the wineglass. The force shattered it. The shards cut into my back. “You’re not going to fuck this up for me.”

Pushing against him, I inched higher on the table. Glass splinters sliced into my skin. I searched for the bottle.

He raised me up, lifting me off the glass. Nose to nose, the heat of his breath brushed my face.

Then—footsteps.

Molly.

My heart plummeted.

Ken’s head jerked toward her. That instant was enough time for me to grip the bottle’s neck and swing it hard against the side of his head. He dropped to his knees. I hit him again. And again.

Molly cried.

I raced toward the child and scooped her up. As I ran toward the front door, I grabbed my purse. Outside, cold air swirled around as Molly clung to me.

“It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.”

My hands shook as I opened the car’s front door and pushed her inside. She scrambled to the passenger seat. I needed distance from Ken. Then I’d put her in her car seat. As the car engine fired, a bloody hand smacked against my car door window. I locked the door as he reached for the handle. His fist pounded against the window.

Molly screamed.

I put the car in drive and punched the accelerator.

“Put your seat belt on!” I shouted.

Molly’s hand trembled, but she grabbed for the strap and drew it across her body. The belt clicked.

Ken fell back, stumbling toward his car, now blocking the driveway. Gravel popped under the tires as the engine roared and I drove the car toward his. I skirted to the right off the driveway and hit the ancient oak trees. Metal scraped wood.

Ken’s car zoomed up to my bumper and rammed it. Molly ducked her head and covered her face with her hands. The cars were side by side now.

I glanced toward him, glimpsing the hard set of his jaw illuminated by the dashboard light. If he caught us this time . . .

Gripping the wheel, I jerked it to the left and rammed his car hard with the nose of mine. The impact rattled up my arms, and I braced for the airbags to deploy. They didn’t. Molly pitched forward, but the belt locked and kept her small body tight against the seat. I wasn’t sure how many times I could strike Ken’s car and not cause a crash that would kill us all.

I gripped my wheel even tighter, braced to hit him again. But my move had forced Ken to overcorrect.

His car angled hard and slammed into one of the oak trees head-on. His airbags deployed as the car engine crumpled around the tree. We raced past him toward the brick pillars.

Police lights flashed on the main road. I jammed on the brakes as Judson’s truck barreled down the driveway toward me.