Jacked (Trent Brothers #1)(176)

“Make. Them. Go. Away,” the girl ordered.

I could hear the cornered desperation in her voice.

“Easy. All right? Just tell me if Erin is okay and I’ll tell them to back off. Work with me and we’ll settle this peacefully.”

“I didn’t want this. I didn’t. Things just… make them leave.”

“Tell me your name first. Can you do that?” I turned my radio down so I could hear her.

“It’s Kara, Adam.” She sniffed. “It’s Kara.”

Reality slammed me in the chest. “Kara? Kara Simmons?”

“Yeah.”

Regret the size of a mountain crashed atop of me. My moment of weakness, of selfish need and empty loneliness, led me to one meaningless encounter with this girl, and now she had Erin.

“Kara, listen to me. I’m coming in.”

“No,” she screamed. “You just want to come in so you can shoot me.”

Several officers surrounded me, monitoring my every word. I held them off. “Kara, that’s not what I want. I just want to talk. That’s all. Just let’s talk, okay? You want to talk to me? You’re in my house. Put down the gun, let me come in, and we’ll figure this out together.”

All I could hear was her breathing. A shadow crossed back and forth behind my front window. I saw the curtain move.

“Kara, is Erin okay? Is she hurt?”

“I just wanted us to be together,” she cried. “You wanted me. I know you did. That’s why. But I wasn’t good enough for you, was I? I was never good enough.”

I shook my head at Marcus and held up three fingers to ready our assault. Things were deteriorating. If Erin had been shot, her time was running out.

“Why, Adam?” Kara whined. “I never cheated on you. And you brought that whore to where I work?”

Another patrol unit rolled up; men hustled about.

“Flash bang and breach,” Marcus said low, coordinating our entrance.

I held the phone away. “They don’t go in without me.” I glanced at all the faces standing by making sure they all got the message, then started scribbling a physical description of the assailant. “Kara, no one wants this. I want you to put the gun down and come out. I promise no one will hurt you.”

“No,” she mumbled adamantly. “I’m going to hurt you like you hurt me. This is all your f*cking fault!” Kara screamed. “All your fault, you f*cking slut!” Several dull thuds accompanied her grunts. It sounded as though she was kicking something. Muffled groans and a pained moan assaulted my brain, which I could only presume were coming from Erin. Another crash resounded inside, which was clearly heard outside my house.

I drew my weapon. Fuck waiting another second.

We had our assault team organized within moments; I headed up my walkway. We had speed, surprise, and violence of action on our side—none of which our suspect would be expecting.

As soon as I heard my dining room window shatter and the flash bang discharge, we came in through the front door.

“Police! Lower your weapon,” the officers flanking me ordered.

Everything happened all at once—the ringing in my ears from the concussion of the flash bang grenade, the rising white smoke billowing out from my dining room, a blur of bodies and angered shouts. Years of training took over, moving me through the melee, though my singular focus of taking the suspect out of the equation warred with the underlying burn of getting to Erin.

The high-pitched scream broke through the air, followed by the trail of the tip of her weapon rising through the air.

“Lower your weapon!” I shouted, praying that she’d listen but instinctively knowing it was all too late. There’s only one outcome when you point a loaded gun at the police.

Long brown hair swirled in the air and then an officer was upon her, taking her down into the wall behind them. The distinct crack of gunfire pierced through all other sounds, sending a blaze of white-hot fire through my lower leg.

The register of pain was instant, and blistered around immediate anger and regret as I fell down to my knee. My gun hit the ground, still wrapped in my fingers.

Kara struggled while several officers rushed her, pinning her face first to the floor. That’s when I noticed a pair of bare feet and toes that appeared a shade of red too dark to be normal.

Erin.

Her body was hidden from my view, blocked by the wall dividing the living and dining rooms, and partially covered by an overturned end table and broken lamp. Blood was splattered and streaked on the white paint above her.

I holstered my weapon and held my breath through the blast of pain that throbbed up into my knee and through my thigh.

She wasn’t moving.

Kara was writhing, her teeth gnashing at the officers subduing her.

I threw my broken lamp aside, trying to get to my feet and move the table that covered her, but my leg refused to hold my weight.

Erin was so still.

I fought through the agony and crawled over to her side, only to have it become insurmountable. Erin’s face was pale and lax. Blood dripped out of her nose and down her cheek. It soaked into her shirt and pooled on the floor around her.

Oh, baby. Please, God. No.

“Aw, no. Baby… no.”

Erin.

I couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t breathe.