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22
Trenton
When Mysti toldme last fall that she wanted to take self-defense classes, I wasn’t sure what to think. When she said Miller asked her to teach them at Razor’s Edge, my discomfort rose. My sweet, kind, caring goddess wasn’t a violent person. But knowing the violence that had befallen her, both in her childhood and her relationships since she was a teen, I supported her desire to do so. Especially since I was traveling between California, Hawaii, and Australia for surfing competitions instead of being there by her side.
Even when I came back to Seaside, I struggled with the idea. And I kept struggling, right up until her hand landed on that gun.
One second later and that bullet would have gone straight through my chest. One split second of indecision could have meant me bleeding out on the floor of that little cottage in Seaside.
Instead, when the gun went off the first time, the weight of her hand was enough to shift the muzzle. Instead of hitting my chest, the bullet grazed the skin under my arm, leaving a sharp burn of pain before it buried itself into the headboard at my back.
But it was the second shot that stilled me. The wound in my torso was nothing compared to the pain I felt as a spray of blood showered the space between Mysti and Steve. My heart stopped and my lungs froze up, and it felt like the second bullet had hit me in the chest when Steve dragged his gaze to Mysti’s face and whispered, “No, Miss Mysti.”
They both dropped to their knees, but the new position did nothing to help me see who was hit. I scrambled off the bed, leery of the gun, but more worried about Mysti’s life than my own. As I knelt down at her side, Steve blinked heavily before sliding his gaze to me.
“I’m… T-Trent. Sh-she’s… m-mine.” His body jerked, and his gaze fell to the side. Staring up at the space beside me, as if someone was there, he whispered, “J-John. No. Can’t. Have her.”
Mysti tore the gun from his grip as he fell to the floor. Blood burbled from the wound in his chest as he sucked in great, gasping breaths. We watched him until he stilled, until the room fell silent but for the police sirens screaming in the distance.
“Mysti, love?” I turned her to face me, my gaze zipping across every precious inch of her skin. “Are you hurt?”
A sob escaped her as she threw her arms around my neck. I almost fell backward with the force of it, had to sit back on my heels to hold the weight of her body as she cried in my arms. I held her to me, thankful for the two little words she was able to say between her sobs. “I’m okay.”
I would forever be grateful for Miller, for giving her the confidence and refreshed skills to take down our would-be killer. I could never forget the family she’d lived with before she made her way out west, or her friend, Kosta, who had given her enough instruction in self-defense before his death for her to know she needed more.
Mysti, my love, my goddess, my fiancée…
She saved my life, she owned my heart, and as I held her sobbing, shivering body against mine, I knew I’d never let her go.
