Easton had clearly known my pain before. That year, a simple rope had crushed my dignity, the rope tight around my neck, my clothes torn as I was dragged down the street like a dog.
Back then, he had rushed in recklessly, beating my stepfather without caring for his own life, and even when he was beaten down and barely breathing, he still dragged me forward without stopping.
But now all of that past felt like a bullet pressed to my forehead in this moment. While Easton held me, my stepfather broke free of my bonds and fled in a panic.
I stared hard at my stepfather’s back, bloodlust burning in my eyes.
By my ear came Easton’s soft words, “Tisha, there will be another chance.”
No. There would never be another chance.
The next moment, while Easton was not watching, I raised my gun and aimed at the enemy.
A shot rang out, and blood sprayed. Watching my stepfather fall heavily to the ground, I smiled with relief.
All those who had hurt me would never escape, and when my stepfather’s men saw me kill him, they fired at Emma, but in that instant, Easton moved.