Read Online Reaching Hearts (Hearts Series) by Sabrina Lacey - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sabrina Lacey
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right myself and rush to open the register, body
shaking . Twenties, ten, fives, ones – I
grab them all.
“Under
the drawer!” The gunman growls at me.
I
throw him a curt nod to let him know I understand. Lifting the register, I hold
up the few fifty and hundred dollar bills I have, for him to see. “This is it.
There’s no more.”
He
jerks his gun toward him, urging me back. I begin my return, walking slowly,
staring from the barrel of the gun to Brendan’s face. He’s watching the gun,
too. His shirt is still off and all I can think is why is this happening? Tears well up in my eyes. My business is
struggling already and now he’s taking all the money we made tonight plus the
extra I had in the register, hoping we’d have a busy night. My mind is swimming
and my heart hurts as the tears fall. I don’t see his finger tense on the trigger.
I don’t see that he has no intention of letting us escape. I don’t see it. But
Brendan does. He sees the intention and jumps in front of me, yelling “NO!”
I
go deaf from the explosion of the shot ringing out. Brendan crumbles to the
ground. I scream. Before I even know what I’m doing, I throw the cash at the
gunman’s face and run forward through it. He flinches and closes his eyes as
anyone would. I knock his firing arm to the left. Another shot rings out. I
grab his wrist with both hands where it’s weak twisting it backward toward him
until he buckles, a natural human instinct to avoid breakage. I bend his
fingers, too, just like my dad taught me, enough for me to grab the gun, jump
back and point it at him. “Get out! Get the fuck out of my bar!”
He’s
shocked. It takes him a second to realize what’s happening.
Just
like he did, I yell louder, “NOW!” He backs out. My hand isn’t like his was.
It’s shaking. But I’m just as dangerous because I’m clear on only one thing. I
don’t have time. Brendan is unconscious. I have to call 911. There is no time.
“FASTER!”
He
backs out the door and I shut it quick, fumbling with my keys to lock it. It
starts to open again and I shoot through it. Hear a yell of pain as I hit my
target through the wood, a hole left behind just like the one in my dad’s glove
compartment in our family truck from the time his gun accidentally went off. I
don’t open it to check if the guy’s dead. I don’t care. Locking the door fast,
I race to Brendan thanking God my dad was a hunter and taught me how to use a
gun. How to respect its power and know how to harness it when
needed.
I
skid to the ground at Brendan’s side. There’s blood seeping out of his ribcage.
I kneel to check if he’s breathing. Feel for a heartbeat. A faint pulsing pulls
tears of relief and urgency from me. Wiping them away so I can see, I run to
get my phone from behind the bar, dial 911 and rush back to him. Falling to the
floor beside him, I pick up his head to hold it tenderly on my lap.
“911,
what’s your emergency?”
“Someone’s
been shot! We were robbed and the guy had a gun and…”
She
interrupts, “Ma’am, where are you now?” I tell her the address and the name of
my bar, demanding she hurry. She assures me an ambulance is on its way and I
drop the phone.
Stroking
his hair and kissing his forehead, I whisper, “Don’t die. Please don’t die.” I
press down on the wound to stop the bleeding, not sure if this works for gun wounds,
just knife wounds, or what. I’ve only seen it done in the movies, so I pray I’m
doing it right. I feel so lost staring at his face. I kiss his lips, always
holding back the blood. “Please don’t die, Brendan. God, please don’t die.” His
eyelids twitch. “Brendan ?!! ”
Through
narrow slits, he tries to focus on my face. He groans from the pain. “What’s
happening?”
I
keep pressing down on the wound. There’s blood all over my hand. “You jumped in
front of the bullet. You saved my life.”
Growing
louder and louder, multiple sirens rush toward us. He closes his eyes
shaking . Twenties, ten, fives, ones – I
grab them all.
“Under
the drawer!” The gunman growls at me.
I
throw him a curt nod to let him know I understand. Lifting the register, I hold
up the few fifty and hundred dollar bills I have, for him to see. “This is it.
There’s no more.”
He
jerks his gun toward him, urging me back. I begin my return, walking slowly,
staring from the barrel of the gun to Brendan’s face. He’s watching the gun,
too. His shirt is still off and all I can think is why is this happening? Tears well up in my eyes. My business is
struggling already and now he’s taking all the money we made tonight plus the
extra I had in the register, hoping we’d have a busy night. My mind is swimming
and my heart hurts as the tears fall. I don’t see his finger tense on the trigger.
I don’t see that he has no intention of letting us escape. I don’t see it. But
Brendan does. He sees the intention and jumps in front of me, yelling “NO!”
I
go deaf from the explosion of the shot ringing out. Brendan crumbles to the
ground. I scream. Before I even know what I’m doing, I throw the cash at the
gunman’s face and run forward through it. He flinches and closes his eyes as
anyone would. I knock his firing arm to the left. Another shot rings out. I
grab his wrist with both hands where it’s weak twisting it backward toward him
until he buckles, a natural human instinct to avoid breakage. I bend his
fingers, too, just like my dad taught me, enough for me to grab the gun, jump
back and point it at him. “Get out! Get the fuck out of my bar!”
He’s
shocked. It takes him a second to realize what’s happening.
Just
like he did, I yell louder, “NOW!” He backs out. My hand isn’t like his was.
It’s shaking. But I’m just as dangerous because I’m clear on only one thing. I
don’t have time. Brendan is unconscious. I have to call 911. There is no time.
“FASTER!”
He
backs out the door and I shut it quick, fumbling with my keys to lock it. It
starts to open again and I shoot through it. Hear a yell of pain as I hit my
target through the wood, a hole left behind just like the one in my dad’s glove
compartment in our family truck from the time his gun accidentally went off. I
don’t open it to check if the guy’s dead. I don’t care. Locking the door fast,
I race to Brendan thanking God my dad was a hunter and taught me how to use a
gun. How to respect its power and know how to harness it when
needed.
I
skid to the ground at Brendan’s side. There’s blood seeping out of his ribcage.
I kneel to check if he’s breathing. Feel for a heartbeat. A faint pulsing pulls
tears of relief and urgency from me. Wiping them away so I can see, I run to
get my phone from behind the bar, dial 911 and rush back to him. Falling to the
floor beside him, I pick up his head to hold it tenderly on my lap.
“911,
what’s your emergency?”
“Someone’s
been shot! We were robbed and the guy had a gun and…”
She
interrupts, “Ma’am, where are you now?” I tell her the address and the name of
my bar, demanding she hurry. She assures me an ambulance is on its way and I
drop the phone.
Stroking
his hair and kissing his forehead, I whisper, “Don’t die. Please don’t die.” I
press down on the wound to stop the bleeding, not sure if this works for gun wounds,
just knife wounds, or what. I’ve only seen it done in the movies, so I pray I’m
doing it right. I feel so lost staring at his face. I kiss his lips, always
holding back the blood. “Please don’t die, Brendan. God, please don’t die.” His
eyelids twitch. “Brendan ?!! ”
Through
narrow slits, he tries to focus on my face. He groans from the pain. “What’s
happening?”
I
keep pressing down on the wound. There’s blood all over my hand. “You jumped in
front of the bullet. You saved my life.”
Growing
louder and louder, multiple sirens rush toward us. He closes his eyes
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