Unforgettable: Book Three (A Hollywood Love Story #3)(39)

I pound harder and more furiously. Gucci barks madly.

“Say goodbye, you f*cking cunt.”

He turns to face me again and aims his gun at my head. The trigger clicks.

The sound of a gunshot roars through my ears.





Brandon


Bingo! Thank my father’s lucky cufflinks. And thank you, Kurt Kussler.

On my first shot, I nail the motherf*cker’s tire—just the way Kurt did to The Locust’s car in one of this season’s episodes. I fire my Magnum at the other back tire as his smoking car skids off the street and crashes into a deserted storefront.

Zoey leaps out of the car. Run, Zoey, run! But before she gets far, the bastard tackles her. He yanks her to her feet again, holding her hostage with his gun to her head.

My heart is beating a gazillion miles a minute as Pete steps on the gas and then comes to a screeching halt. In unison, we jump out of the car.

“Give it up, Donatelli!” yells Pete, aiming his gun.

“Fuck you!” In the blink of an eye, the f*cking bastard does the unthinkable. He fires his gun. The explosive bang echoes in my ears.

“Pops!” screams out Zoey.

Fuck. Pete is down. It’s just me now. In the near distance, sirens roar.

“Put the gun down,” the f*cker yells at me.

“Let her go first.”

“Maybe you don’t understand English. Drop the f*cking gun.”

He presses the barrel of his gun against Zoey’s temple. Her desperate eyes meet mine. I have no choice. I let the gun fall from my hand.

“Let go of her now!” I say authoritatively.

He snickers. “Are you out of your f*cking mind? I’m going to take your car and her with me. One move and she’s dog meat.”

Fuck. He played me. I think hard about scooping up the Magnum, but think twice. He’ll either shoot Zoey or shoot me. Or take us both out.

The tension in the air is as thick as fog. My eyes don’t blink as the bastard takes his first step toward Pete’s vehicle, gripping a terrified Zoey by her neck. A loud growl sounds in my ear. My attention is diverted. It’s Gucci! Flying out the window of Donatelli’s smoking car, he makes a beeline for the bastard. Go, Superdog!

“Ow!” yelps Donatelli as Gucci attacks him, biting his ankle like a rabid pit-bull. The dog’s relentless. Growling, his razor-sharp teeth stay locked on him even as the gun-wielding bastard attempts to kick him off. Go, Gucci! I f*cking love this ten thousand dollar mutt.

“Get this f*cking dog off me!”

As a cursing Donatelli tries to fend off Gucci, Zoey breaks loose.

“Run, Zoey, run!” I shout out as I hastily scoop up my gun.

Zoey takes off like the wind, but Donatelli pivots toward her and aims his weapon. He fires. He misses. Zoey trips in her heels. Shit! He’s about to take another shot.


Holding my Magnum steady in both hands, I aim it at him and pull the trigger back.

“You motherf*cker!”

He turns and I fire. Boom! The deafening gunshot reverberates in my head as I watch the motherf*cker go down. Holy shit! I got him! I’m a f*cking real life action hero. Sliding the gun under the waistband of my tux pants, I lunge over to Zoey, who’s sprawled on the ground.

“You okay, baby?” I ask as I scoop her up into my arms. Sobbing, she clutches me the way a child does a parent, folding her arms around my neck and her legs around my hips. Her head presses against my pounding heart. Nodding, she whispers my name through her tears.

“Oh, Brandon.” Her words are like prayer. I tenderly brush my hand through her silky hair.

“It’s over now, Zo. The bastard’s dead. I nailed him right between the eyes.”

“No, it’s not, you cocksucker.” A familiar rasp captures my attention. Shit! It’s Donatelli, staggering to his feet, dripping with blood, his gun in his hand. Zoey screams.

“Don’t look, baby!” With Zoey burying her face against my chest, I yank out my Magnum and aim it at the bastard. One of us is going to die, but it’s not going to be me or my baby.

“You f*cker,” croaks Donatelli, fumbling for the trigger.

“No, you f*cker.” I fire once and hit him in the chest. “That’s for killing her mother.” I fire again, getting him in the gut. “That’s for killing my parents.” I fire a third time, hitting him smack in the balls. “That’s for taking my girl…and this is for calling me a cocksucker.” I shoot him one final time in the nut sack for good measure. My lips snarl. “Get it. Got it? Good.”

The gun falls out his hand as he collapses back onto the ground. Lying in a pool of blood, he’s dead for sure. My focus stays on the bullet hole between his wide open eyes. Bastard! Fucking bastard! I hope he can still see me from the fiery depths of hell.

Tossing my weapon, I tenderly kiss the top of Zoey’s scalp. “Baby, it’s really over now.”

She slowly lifts her head and her misty eyes meet mine. “What about Pops?”

“Yeah. What about me, Babycakes?”

Zoey gasps. Her tears of grief give way to tears of joy. “Pops! You’re okay!”

A little disheveled, Pete staggers our way. He kisses Zoey on the cheek and then meets my gaze. “Tell Kurt Kussler that he should always wear a bullet-proof vest.”