The Fear That Divides Us (The Devil's Dust #3)(62)

Eyes firmly closed, my face winces from little wet droplets hitting my cheeks. Prizing my eyes open, I discover I’m outside the van. I was thrown out at some point. I slowly roll over, looking for the van. I find it just a couple feet from me. It’s hissing and smoking, crinkled like an old soda can slammed up against a large boulder.

A loud creaking noise draws my attention to the opening door; it’s barely hanging on its hinges. Adrenaline races through my heart when Grant falls out of the door, coughing and groaning. I turn and start trying to crawl away. My body is tense and sore from the wreck, making it hard to move.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Grant laughs. I whimper in an attempt to move faster.

Forcing my achy body to cooperate, I push onto my knees trying to stand and run, but one of my ankles is pulled back, slamming my chest back on the ground. I turn and find Grant’s bloody hand latched onto my leg. His head is bleeding profusely, drenching one side of his face in a thick red ooze. I grab at the grass, trying to pull myself from his grip when I notice a black crowbar feet away, no doubt fallen out of the van. Survival. The word slams into my mind. It’s my only choice if I’m to survive. I look back at Grant who is laughing at my weak attempt to escape, the vinyl collar restraining my neck, reminding me I’m still wearing it. I grit my teeth and bite my lip. I can do this. I flip over on my back, sending a shockwave of pain shooting through my bruised body, and use my other leg to slam it into Grant’s balls. He instantly lets go of my ankle and I surge forward, seizing the cold steel with one of my hands.

“Bitch!” Grant curses angrily. I look behind me just as Grant grabs my arm, flipping me over to look at him. As he pulls me, I swing the crowbar, slamming it against the side of his head. The sound of metal and bone makes a chilling sound. He stills and his eyes roll in the back of his head as he lets go of my arm, falling to the ground. A sob racks from my mouth as I pull away from him, watching his head bleed out from the gash the crowbar inflicted.

Knowing it’s either him or me, I regain my focus and try to subdue my sobs as I crawl on my knees over to him. Pulling the crowbar over my head with shaky hands, tears blur my vision. I take a deep breath and slam it down on his head again. His face that resembles Travis’s looks back up at me. All the pain he caused me, the way he talked to Addie. The first time he physically hurt Addie all reel in my mind like a horror movie. The pain. Torture. Belittling. All fogging my head in a haze of uncontrollable anger.

I scream loudly as I thrash it down onto his skull again. I lift my tired arms to hit him in the head one more time, but can’t muster the strength. I can no longer feel my hands, my limbs in general. Everything is numb. My instinct to survive is the only thing I can feel; it’s pounding in my brain so hard I can barely see straight.

“You can’t hurt us anymore,” I sob quietly, falling onto my hands, panting.

Tires screeching at the top of the hill catch my attention. I freeze wondering if I should run and hide, but know I have no choice but to remain. My body is shutting down.

“Jessica!” Bobby’s voice is a balm to the chaos around me. I look toward his voice and watch in relief as he runs down the hill.

“Bobby!” I cry, my body releasing its tension.

He sprints all the way down the hill. His unbuttoned black shirt flapping against him.

Ignoring my frozen limbs, I clamber to a stand and stumble toward him, the crowbar still in my hand.

Bobby smashes into me painfully, wrapping both arms around my frame, and tucking my head into the crook of his neck.

“Bobby, I love you,” I cry, holding my bloody hands out to the side, nuzzling my face into him more. Bobby pulls me closer, resting his nose just above my ear.

“You were right. I was just scared. I am scared,” I mumble into his shirt.

“I love you, too, Jessica,” he whispers.

He pulls away looking me over warily. Glancing down at myself, my white dress is splattered with specks of blood, my hands covered in back splatter from hitting Grant with the crowbar. I look like a psychopath.

“Fuck,” Bobby whispers, running his hand along my bicep. I turn and look at what he is staring at. My eyes catching my upper arm with a shard of glass sticking out of it.

“Don’t pull it out. It will bleed worse,” I warn. I can’t even feel it, so I know it’s bad.

He reaches down my arm and grasps the crowbar still in my hand, taking it. He rounds me and squats near Grant.

“He’s Travis’s brother,” I quietly say, stepping up beside him.

“That’s why he looks familiar. You did a number on him, Jessica,” Bobby remarks. He reaches forward, and rolls Grant over, applying his hands to Grant’s neck looking for a pulse. “He’s definitely dead,” Bobby informs, dropping the crowbar to the ground.

“I had to do it. He pieced together I hired the club to kill Travis,” I explain, defending my actions. Bobby shrugs, glancing at me.

“I would have killed him for nearly hitting my truck,” he adds seriously. “I think you had a pretty good reason to do what you did.” Bobby stands up, and walks over to me, tucking his arm behind my head.

“What the f*ck is this?” Bobby whispers, his fingers pulling at the collar still wrapped around my neck.

“It was Travis’s. Grant put it on me,” I mutter, trying to take it off anxiously. I know with Bobby here I’m safe, but the idea of being a prisoner in this collar is suffocating.