The Last Echo
Page 56
And then the other sound was back, the thumping resonance of bass.
But she couldn’t run fast enough, and she shrieked as she was jerked from behind, caught by her own hood when James Nua snagged it, hauling her backward.
Violet fell, squeezing her eyes shut so she wouldn’t have to watch the creeping black vines that crawled beneath James Nua’s skin as he stood above her.
It was then that she heard the soft click in front of her face, and felt the whoosh of air just beneath her nose.
And she did look. Unable to stop herself.
Nua held up a knife, a switchblade with a polished steel blade for her to see. His lips twisted into a menacing snarl as he touched the tip of it to Violet’s neck, just below her left ear, and traced a fiery path along her jawline. She could feel the drag of the blade, the smooth metal sliding over her skin. If she moved—if she breathed—he might very well cut her.
“You f**k with me . . . I . . . f**k . . . with . . . you.” His voice was low and he dragged out each word, each syllable, as his narrowed eyes held hers. She felt his muscles tense and she knew that this was it. “Dumb bitch,” he whispered.
A gunshot rent the air, making Violet jump, and she felt the point of the knife prick her skin. Above her, James Nua went rigid, his eyes widening as he released her jacket and she fell back. He stood there for moment, confusion contorting his features as he struggled to sort through what had just happened. And then his mouth opened and he released a gut-wrenching, ear-shattering howl of half pain, half rage.
Like Nua, Violet’s brain moved too slowly. But she seized her opportunity to escape. She was on her back, and she scooted away from him, stumbling awkwardly over her own hands and feet as she crawled as far from him as she could manage. As she did, as she pressed herself against the concrete wall, she started to make sense of everything in front of her.
Fresh blood bloomed at James Nua’s side, the stark crimson stain spreading against the white of his T-shirt. He let go of the knife as he clutched his wound with both hands, his eyes incredulous, his face contorting with pain.
“Stay where you are!” Sara ordered from the alley that opened onto the street, and Violet could see that her gun was aimed directly at James Nua now.
Violet watched recognition dawn on his face as pain contorted into undisguised fury. With effort, he staggered to his feet.
“I said stay where you are!” Sara yelled again, taking a cautious step closer.
Nua just grinned at her, but even from where she stood, Violet could see the beads of sweat prickling across his forehead.
Violet remained still, watching Sara’s approach. Relief unfurled within her, but she was shaking all over and her teeth chattered violently.
Behind Sara, the music drew closer, and Violet’s stomach tightened. It came upon them slowly, and Violet blinked as she turned to the street beyond the alleyway. It was moving far too deliberately.
As the nose of the car came into view, the resonating bass pounded so loudly that Violet could feel it beneath her feet. Sara was watching it too, positioning herself so she could keep Nua in her sights while never losing sight of the big red car. She kept her gun aimed at Nua’s grinning face.
It was like a scene out of a movie. Violet saw the boys, both with the same tribal-like tattoos as James Nua’s. Neither looked old enough to be driving. One kept his hand on the steering wheel while pointing his gun down the alleyway. The other boy sat higher, perched in the passenger-side window frame, leaning over the roof of the car, his gun directed right at them. As if on cue, both boys began firing at once.
Sara’s training was evident, and she moved like lightning. She dropped to the ground and was firing back before Violet could even breathe. Violet pressed herself as close to the ground as she could, covering the back of her head with her hands. She didn’t need police training to know that lifting her head was a bad idea.
The rapid bursts of gunfire lasted mere seconds before Violet heard the peal of tires. And then there was silence.
Violet knew, even without looking, that James Nua had gone. She knew she was safe, at least for now. His imprints were nowhere near her.
But he could still come back, Violet thought, shuddering.
Yet that wasn’t why she stayed where she was, her face pressed against the filthy blacktop beneath her, breathing in dirt and oil, and letting pebbles grind into the swelling flesh of her cheek. She stayed there straining, trying to feel for new echoes . . .
. . . not yet ready to know if Sara had survived.
Because if she hadn’t, that meant Rafe had just lost his sister too.
Chapter 16
“VIOLET! VIOLET, ARE YOU HURT?” SARA’S HAND was at her shoulder, but it was her voice, so dynamic, so . . . alive, that made Violet tremble with relief.
She pushed herself off the ground, sitting up on her knees while she collected herself.
Sara gave her the once-over, then glanced back toward the street, her weapon still clutched in her hand as she watched for signs that James Nua might reappear.
“Don’t worry.” Violet smiled weakly. “He’s gone.”
“You sure?”
Violet nodded and Sara visibly relaxed, letting her hand—and her gun—drop to her side. “Just stay put for a sec,” she said, pulling out her cell phone. “You don’t look so good.”
Violet didn’t feel very good either, but mostly she just felt shaken. Well, aside from her bloodied fingers and a throbbing eye. She listened as Sara dialed someone at the police department directly, rather than calling 9-1-1.
But she couldn’t run fast enough, and she shrieked as she was jerked from behind, caught by her own hood when James Nua snagged it, hauling her backward.
Violet fell, squeezing her eyes shut so she wouldn’t have to watch the creeping black vines that crawled beneath James Nua’s skin as he stood above her.
It was then that she heard the soft click in front of her face, and felt the whoosh of air just beneath her nose.
And she did look. Unable to stop herself.
Nua held up a knife, a switchblade with a polished steel blade for her to see. His lips twisted into a menacing snarl as he touched the tip of it to Violet’s neck, just below her left ear, and traced a fiery path along her jawline. She could feel the drag of the blade, the smooth metal sliding over her skin. If she moved—if she breathed—he might very well cut her.
“You f**k with me . . . I . . . f**k . . . with . . . you.” His voice was low and he dragged out each word, each syllable, as his narrowed eyes held hers. She felt his muscles tense and she knew that this was it. “Dumb bitch,” he whispered.
A gunshot rent the air, making Violet jump, and she felt the point of the knife prick her skin. Above her, James Nua went rigid, his eyes widening as he released her jacket and she fell back. He stood there for moment, confusion contorting his features as he struggled to sort through what had just happened. And then his mouth opened and he released a gut-wrenching, ear-shattering howl of half pain, half rage.
Like Nua, Violet’s brain moved too slowly. But she seized her opportunity to escape. She was on her back, and she scooted away from him, stumbling awkwardly over her own hands and feet as she crawled as far from him as she could manage. As she did, as she pressed herself against the concrete wall, she started to make sense of everything in front of her.
Fresh blood bloomed at James Nua’s side, the stark crimson stain spreading against the white of his T-shirt. He let go of the knife as he clutched his wound with both hands, his eyes incredulous, his face contorting with pain.
“Stay where you are!” Sara ordered from the alley that opened onto the street, and Violet could see that her gun was aimed directly at James Nua now.
Violet watched recognition dawn on his face as pain contorted into undisguised fury. With effort, he staggered to his feet.
“I said stay where you are!” Sara yelled again, taking a cautious step closer.
Nua just grinned at her, but even from where she stood, Violet could see the beads of sweat prickling across his forehead.
Violet remained still, watching Sara’s approach. Relief unfurled within her, but she was shaking all over and her teeth chattered violently.
Behind Sara, the music drew closer, and Violet’s stomach tightened. It came upon them slowly, and Violet blinked as she turned to the street beyond the alleyway. It was moving far too deliberately.
As the nose of the car came into view, the resonating bass pounded so loudly that Violet could feel it beneath her feet. Sara was watching it too, positioning herself so she could keep Nua in her sights while never losing sight of the big red car. She kept her gun aimed at Nua’s grinning face.
It was like a scene out of a movie. Violet saw the boys, both with the same tribal-like tattoos as James Nua’s. Neither looked old enough to be driving. One kept his hand on the steering wheel while pointing his gun down the alleyway. The other boy sat higher, perched in the passenger-side window frame, leaning over the roof of the car, his gun directed right at them. As if on cue, both boys began firing at once.
Sara’s training was evident, and she moved like lightning. She dropped to the ground and was firing back before Violet could even breathe. Violet pressed herself as close to the ground as she could, covering the back of her head with her hands. She didn’t need police training to know that lifting her head was a bad idea.
The rapid bursts of gunfire lasted mere seconds before Violet heard the peal of tires. And then there was silence.
Violet knew, even without looking, that James Nua had gone. She knew she was safe, at least for now. His imprints were nowhere near her.
But he could still come back, Violet thought, shuddering.
Yet that wasn’t why she stayed where she was, her face pressed against the filthy blacktop beneath her, breathing in dirt and oil, and letting pebbles grind into the swelling flesh of her cheek. She stayed there straining, trying to feel for new echoes . . .
. . . not yet ready to know if Sara had survived.
Because if she hadn’t, that meant Rafe had just lost his sister too.
Chapter 16
“VIOLET! VIOLET, ARE YOU HURT?” SARA’S HAND was at her shoulder, but it was her voice, so dynamic, so . . . alive, that made Violet tremble with relief.
She pushed herself off the ground, sitting up on her knees while she collected herself.
Sara gave her the once-over, then glanced back toward the street, her weapon still clutched in her hand as she watched for signs that James Nua might reappear.
“Don’t worry.” Violet smiled weakly. “He’s gone.”
“You sure?”
Violet nodded and Sara visibly relaxed, letting her hand—and her gun—drop to her side. “Just stay put for a sec,” she said, pulling out her cell phone. “You don’t look so good.”
Violet didn’t feel very good either, but mostly she just felt shaken. Well, aside from her bloodied fingers and a throbbing eye. She listened as Sara dialed someone at the police department directly, rather than calling 9-1-1.
