“Bryson, I told you—I didn’t lay a finger on Debbii! I’m begging you. I’ll kneel if I have to! You know I’ve never lied to you! Please, believe me. Don’t hurt my brother!”
As I said this, I moved to kneel.
My brother was already coughing up blood. He was all I had left. I couldn’t lose him either!
But my pleading and my kneeling didn’t stir Bryson in the slightest.
He watched me sink to the floor and still began to count.
“Ten.”
Hearing that familiar countdown, I felt myself unravel.
“No! Stop! Bryson, you can’t do this! You’ll regret it!”
The batons fell again. Ten strikes. My brother’s mouth poured blood without pause.
“Nine.”
Seeing the guards raise their weapons once more, I wrenched free of Bryson’s grip and threw myself over my brother.
The batons crashed onto me instead. Pain ripped through my stomach, and a warm trickle of blood ran down my thighs.
The crimson seeped into my black dress, but all Bryson saw was my ashen face.
At last, his brows drew together.
“Stop!”
He strode forward, reaching to lift me, his eyes flickering with a trace of pain.
“Hedy, I…”
But before his apology could leave his lips, his secretary rushed up, thrusting a phone into his hand.