𝖛𝖎𝖈𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘 ↠ sweet pea [2]

|| THIRTY-SEVEN ||

Lauryn was certain she was dead. The deafening bang of the gunshot had sealed her fate—she was sure of it. But then she felt something. Pain, yes, but also breath. Her breath. She wasn't dead.

Eyes snapping open, she sat up in a panic. Her ears rang, and her vision was a blur of shadows and motion. When it finally cleared, she saw him—Jared Aleks. He was locked in a furious struggle, tackling Rich to the floor.

"Jared!" she screamed, her voice a raw echo in the chaos. Jared's hand held a knife poised above Rich's chest, the blade trembling, an inch from skin.

"Thought you'd be here, you motherfucker," Jared growled, his voice like the edge of that knife, pressing closer and closer. The steel broke through Rich's white T-shirt, and blood blossomed slowly beneath it. "Guess I've got a sixth sense when it comes to scum like you."

Rich twisted under him, eyes wild with fear, trying to squirm free. "You think you're saving her? The Ghoulies know your name, Aleks. It's over for you."

"Call it a death wish," Jared chuckled darkly, "or maybe just a need to watch you bleed." His grip tightened on the knife. "Give me one reason I shouldn't end you right here, Foster."

Lauryn gasped for air, her body convulsing with shock, as a sharp, crippling pain twisted through her abdomen. "Jared," she whispered, clutching her stomach, voice trembling. "I didn't give them your name..."

Jared's gaze flicked to her, his jaw clenching as he hesitated, but before he could respond, Rich let out a guttural laugh.

"You don't have the guts to kill me," Rich spat, even as his own strength waned beneath Jared's weight. "Maybe it's better that she didn't give your name... because I'll finish you myself."

Before Jared could react, Rich's hand shot out, clamping around his neck and slamming his head to the floor. The knife slipped from his grip. In a swift motion, Rich was on top, the tables turned. The cold edge of the knife now pressed against Jared's chest.

"Nice try, Aleks," Rich sneered, breath ragged. "Thought you would've learned by now not to pick fights you can't win."

Jared coughed with defiance in his eyes. "I'd rather die than let you touch her again. I know what you are, Foster."

Rich's eyes flashed with something dark. "Good. Because now I can finish what I started."

Jared roared, summoning what little strength he had left. The two thrashed across the floor, a violent tangle of limbs. The moonlight glinted off Rich's gun, discarded near the doorway. Lauryn's heart hammered as an idea struck her.

She pulled herself to her knees, every movement a fresh agony. Blood soaked the fabric of her pants, but she pushed through it, inching towards the gun. Her vision blurred, the pain in her abdomen blinding now, but she had to reach it. Had to.

"Lauryn, RUN!" Jared's voice was distant, fading, until a sickening squelch echoed through the room. A moment of horrible silence followed—then another wet, tearing sound.

Rich rose, wiping his hands clean, as if the life he had just taken was nothing more than a stain. He turned his cold eyes on Lauryn, but instead of finishing her off, he disappeared out the door like a ghost.

This couldn't be it.

"Jared?" Lauryn's voice cracked, and she forced herself to crawl towards him. He lay there, gasping for air, his chest rising and falling erratically. "No, no, no," she sobbed, cradling his head in her lap, ripping off her cardigan to press against the gushing wound. "You saved my life."

"Jared!" Lauryn gasped, managing to crawl herself towards him. She cradled his head, taking off her cardigan to put pressure on his wound. "You saved my life."