Page 132 of Painted Truths

He squeezes the trigger as Henry's gaze meets mine, unapologetically fearless in this moment of pure terror. Our life together, the one we never got to have, flashes before my eyes as I hear a single solitary gunshot ring out.

"What the—" Samuel sways on his feet, teetering like a house of cards. He looks down to see a hole in his t-shirt right over his heart. Moving forward toward Henry menacingly, his legs buckle and fold underneath him as he falls to the driveway with a heavy thud.

Pulling myself to my feet, I race to an astounded Henry, who's still checking himself for a bullet wound. He gathers me in his arms, kissing every inch of my face as tears stream unchecked down my cheeks.

Catching my face between his palms, he pulls back a little to capture my teary eyes with matching ones of his own. His eyes rake over every contour of my face, checking for signs of injury while my own just soak in the sight of him before me—the feel of his warm body against mine. Everything I feared I’d never have again from the moment I’d woken up in this place.

A single, fat tear falls from one green eye, making a track through the dust on his handsome face from the gravel of the driveway. “I thought I’d lost you, Peach. For good this time. I don’t think I could… I don’t—”

Reaching up, I wipe the tear from his jawline before bringing my hand up to swipe his messy hair back from across his forehead. “I’m here. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

His eyes hold mine for a long beat before he nods, blowing out a heavy breath as we turn together to find Nate standing a little way behind us, his jaw unhinged.

Mila is slightly in front of him. In her small hand is a gun, pointed in the direction of Samuel, and there's no doubt in my mind that she's the one who pulled the trigger to save her brother's life. Her outstretched hand is shaking in complete contradiction to the next words that leave her bloodied lips.

"Fucker had it coming."

She drops the gun, turning into the safety of Nate's arms as he rambles incredulously, "She grabbed it. She grabbed the fucking gun."

Three exceedingly large, burly men and a powerfully built woman stride purposefully towards us, taking in the scene. Finally, the most prominent man shakes his head. "Fuck, Hawthorne. You owe me. Big!"

With two dead bodies on the ground, the retrieval team—or Hulk team, as I’ve begun referring them to in my head—Nate hired to get Mila and me out safely have no choice but to go through the proper channels. But unfortunately, as recovery is their primary job description, murder, even self-defence, is a whole different ball game.

Having rallied themselves faster than the rest of us, both Nate and Henry take control of discreetly filling in all the blanks as to how we got here and how Lauren came to such a violent end.

Sitting beside a cleaned and bandaged Mila, our arms linked as we huddle close for comfort, we can hear the detectives grilling both men, calmly but firmly.

The woman, an elderly lady with a mass of curly red hair bound at the nape of her neck, curls springing wildly around her face, puts her hand on Henry's arm in a reassuring manner, her kindly face twisted in understanding.

Her companion, a tall, thin man with minimal hair on his head but the most ridiculous overgrown moustache I've ever seen, looks less than impressed with how neat a bow the boys have managed to tie on their tale.

"Almost done, gentlemen, if you don't mind one last thing." At their nods, he continues. "Just give me the rundown of Mr Hastings' final moments. I'm confused as to how he was so fatally injured."

Henry's nostrils flare as he hits on all the key moments, all of us undoubtedly wondering how on earth he's going to explain that his sixteen-year-old sister shot that psychopath to save his life.

An investigation is not what she needs, especially after the trauma of the last twenty-four hours.

"Mr Hastings pulled the gun from behind his back and held it on me. I… I saw him begin to squeeze the trigger and then heard a shot."

"Leading me to the real question: who shot Mr Hastings?"

Jesse Ramirez, the largest member of the Hulk team, walks up behind Henry, opening his mouth to take the heat in Mila's place.

"It was me. I shot Mr Hastings. I killed him." Nate's voice rings out coolly over the group. "I was entrusted by one of the Elite Forces with a loaded gun for our protection. When I saw Henry's life was in danger, I made a decision. I stick by my actions, no matter the cost."

From across the driveway to the grass Mila and I are sitting on, I can see both of them hold each other's eyes at his final words. Mila tries to stand, but I grip her arm tightly as Nate shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

She huffs in anger beside me, but doesn't struggle. "Idiot. I'm a minor." The words muttered under her breath would be comical if not for the severity of the situation.

Thankfully, the detectives advise Nate, and the surrounding men, that there will be an investigation, but at this point, it's basically a formality.

And at Henry's firm reminder, they confirm that things will be handled quickly and diplomatically before telling us that they will be in touch.

Rather than ringing for a driver from DeMarco Holdings to come all the way out from the city, Alex, who has circumspectly been taking everything in from a distance, suggests we take a car from his mother's garage.

"I'll drop Mila. She's on my way."

I catch Mila's eye at Nate's announcement, my wide eyes mirroring her own before she insolently rolls hers to the heavens.