Man in the Wall (Who is he?)

Chapter 36 - I'll make sure of it

A/N:

So I got this in my e-mail yesterday. Thank you for the lovely cover!!😍

❤

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My eyes dart down to my body to locate where the hell she shot now again but I don't see any bullet holes, none that are new of course. I look up only to see that she fired into the open air. 

"I wasn't done speaking and you don't get to call the shots here. I think it's pretty clear that I do."

It's in her best interest to spare me the dramatics.  I stare at her blankly, awaiting something useful to come out of that sewage smelling mouth of hers.

"Three days is all you have."

"We've come to that conclusion already, anything else?" I question, growing tired of lying on the ground.

After heavy contemplation, she places the gun in the back of her jeans and walks over to me. It's a struggle at first, but she gets me to my feet nonetheless. Every now and then I painfully hiss as certain movements cause great discomfort. As soon as I'm on my feet she guides me to my vehicle. Each step causes distress, but it's distress I have to take it.

My clothing soaks in blood, yet somehow the blood continues to oose outward. I wait impatiently for the perfect moment to reach over and grab at the weapon in her jean. She's quick to notice this and immediately throws me to the ground. I hiss and grunt in great pain, grabbing onto my chest and leg as my body curls over to one side. This woman will get what's coming to her. She might believe she has the upper hand now, but she'll soon regret every decision made against me.

"What stunt are you trying to pull here?" she yells and I choose not to answer. 

With all the yelling and gunshots going about, one would think at least one neighbor would surface to see what's happening. Yet, there's not a single soul in sight. I must have missed the evacuation notice.

The lieutenant begins to massage her temples in circular motions before speaking again. "Steven, you aren't my target but if you're of no help to me I'll kill you too. So stop with your bullshit and get your ass in the car!" she turns around and heads to the drivers' side. 

So what, am I suppose to carry myself over to the car? I'm half dead and she expects me to drag my injured self across the driveway. She climbs in and simply sits there waiting for me to magically appear in the passenger seat.

"I won't try anything this time okay," I say as I notice her unwavering expression, determined not to look my way. "I can't lift myself you know. You shot me. Three times to be exact." 

This is ridiculous. I've never had to reason with someone to a point that it sounds as if I'm begging. I feel pathetic. A grown 29-year-old man begging for help. It's enough to make me sick.

I hear a long and heavy sigh escape the lieutenant as she opens the door. Before I know it, she's back at my side helping me to my feet. I decide not to try anything this time. My body can't stand another slam to the ground. 

We make our way around the vehicle as she guides me into the passenger seat. I notice the can of beer I grabbed from the refrigerator earlier emptying out and pooling at my feet on the carpet floor. The stench of beer hits my nose and I realize, a good one has gone to waste.

The lieutenant shuts the passenger door before making her way around to the driver's side.

"Since we're already at my place, go and get me some clothes so that I can replace these drenched ones. They're in my bedroom," I order her. I'm not going through with my plan looking like hell. Feeling that way is torture enough as is.