Nothing left to lose, p.121
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       Nothing Left to Lose, p.121

         Part #1 of Nothing Left to Lose series by Kirsty Moseley
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Page 121

  Author: Kirsty Moseley

  When I opened my eyes, I saw that Carter was looking at me, clearly amused. He wiped my mouth roughly, laughing before bending and planting a kiss on the corner of my mouth. “Your turn now, Princess,” he instructed, waggling his eyebrows at me. He turned the gun in his hand so he held out the handle to me. I looked at it hesitantly, unsure if I would be able to do what I had planned. I took a deep breath before raising a shaky hand and taking the gun from his grasp. “That’s a good girl. All you need to do is pull the trigger. ” He smiled and pushed the gun so it was pointing under my chin. I closed my eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths. When I opened them, I looked straight at Ashton. I nodded, hoping that he would get ready and know what I was planning.

  I took one last deep breath before I whipped my arm down, aiming at Carter’s chest and pulled the trigger again and again, counting them as they went through the chamber. Ashton had one click, and this was probably only a six shooter gun.

  Click

  Click

  Click

  Click.

  Okay, it’s the next one! I braced myself for the slight recoil of the gun. I pulled the trigger again.

  Click

  Nothing happened. I pulled again and again, still nothing. Ashton groaned. What? No! Why didn’t it go off?

  Carter burst out laughing and took the gun out of my trembling hand. “As if I would give you a loaded gun, Princess. You’d probably shoot your beautiful face off, then where would I be? Widowed at twenty-eight,” he said, pulling me to him. “But I am pretty pissed off that you just tried to shoot me,” he growled, pulling my hair back and slamming me into the wall.

  Oh shit, this is it, Anna, fight or die.

  I heard a gunshot go off. A real one this time, loud and horrifying. I heard a groan of pain, I snapped my head around quickly to see what had happened, and my world collapsed in on itself. Ashton was falling to the floor, blood seeping across the shoulder of his shirt. I screamed hysterically. He was dead. Ashton, the love of my life, my soul mate, the only thing I cared about, was dead.

  Desperation and horror washed over me as Carter threw me to the floor. I wanted to stay there and curl into a ball and die, but I couldn’t. Carter wouldn’t let me die. I would have to live, knowing that Ashton was dead because of me, and I couldn’t do that.

  Either Carter was going to die or I was. I wouldn’t live without Ashton. I pushed myself up off the floor and punched Carter hard in the face, catching him off-guard and sending him stumbling backwards. My foot shot out and landed a kick right in the middle of his chest which made him fall to his knees. While he groaned in pain, I took the advantage, grabbing the back of his hair and slamming his face into my knee with as much force as I could manage. I heard his nose snap and I smiled, throwing him to the floor, smiling as he writhed in agony. I kicked him in the groin and stomach, bringing my foot back again to kick him in the face, but he grabbed my foot, pulling hard so I fell onto my back, knocking the wind out of me.

  “Shit,” I gasped as I saw him getting to his feet.

  I could vaguely hear sounds of a scuffle, a chair or table breaking, but all I could focus on was Carter. He was going to kill me, I could see it on his face, there was no going back this time; this was it. I rolled to my side, pushing myself up to all fours. As he went to kick me in the face, I put my hands up to shield myself and pushed his leg to the side, making him lose his balance slightly, allowing me time to get to my feet.

  I smirked at his shocked expression; I’d never once tried to fight him back, well, not like this anyway. My meagre sixteen year old attempts at fighting him were pathetic because back then I’d known nothing, unlike now. “Yeah, I had lessons. I wanted to be able to kill you if I ever saw you again,” I explained, shrugging.

  I was actually enjoying this. My back was hurting like hell, but I ignored it as he came for me again, almost growling with rage. His hand shot out towards my hair, so I whipped my head out of the way and kicked him in the stomach. Stepping forward, I grabbed hold of his shirt, throwing my knee up as hard as I could into his stomach twice before he grabbed me and slammed me into the wall.

  He pulled his arm back and I saw a flash of silver before pain like nothing I had ever felt in my life blasted through my stomach. It felt like a burning hot poker had been shoved into me. I grunted, gasping for breath as he pulled his arm back, sliding the knife back from my flesh before driving it back into my stomach again.

  Using all of my might, I shoved him away from me, seeing the serrated edged flick knife he had in his hand. My blood dripped from the blade, landing in patters at his feet. I sucked in a ragged breath, leaning against the wall for support as my hand fumbled at my stomach, feeling my wet, soggy T-shirt.

  I could taste the blood in my mouth and my whole body seemed like it now weighed a thousand pounds. My breathing was laboured as my lungs constricted because of the pain that was consuming me, crushing me, drowning me.

  “Princess? I… Oh God, what have I done?” Carter gasped, stepping forward, his eyes wide and frantic. “Shit. I need to get you some help. You’ll be fine, you’ll be fine,” he muttered, reaching down and pressing his hands over the wounds he’d inflicted, trying to staunch the blood flow. “I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t have pushed me. You made me do this!” he ranted, shaking his head angrily. I wasn’t sure if he was angry at himself for stabbing me, or angry at me because I’d ‘made’ him do it.

  “I hate you, you sick son of a bitch. I never loved you. Just let me die!” I hissed, shoving his hands away from me with as much strength as I could manage.

  He recoiled, his mouth popping open in shock. Clearly, in his sick, twisted, little mind, we loved each other and were the perfect couple. He didn’t understand that he murdered my boyfriend, kidnapped me, raped me, beat me, starved me, and shattered my soul. He only saw what he wanted to see.

  The pain in my stomach was blinding me. I was exhausted. I couldn’t stand anymore; my legs wouldn’t support my weight. I could barely breathe through the pain and the grief of seeing Ashton die. I slumped to the floor. Death was coming too slowly; I wanted it over with already. I knew just how to make Carter angry enough to end me quickly.

  “That agent that everyone thinks was just undercover and an act, well, he wasn’t. I love him. I’ll always love him. You should just kill me now because I’ll never stop fighting you, I’ll never give in. I’ll never conform. I’ll never feel anything for you but hatred!” I spat.

  “You ungrateful little bitch! Mark kept trying to tell me that it didn’t look like a cover, but I refused to believe it,” he growled. He stepped forward and I saw the resigned expression wash over his face as he finally realised that I would never be what he wanted me to be, we would never have what he wanted us to have.

  “I hate you, you piece of shit!” I shouted, sneering at him. “Just kill me already!”

  His eyes flashed with menace at my disrespect and he staggered forward, his lips pressed into a thin line as he twirled the knife in his hand. I fought a smile, knowing that death was coming for me now. For the last six and a half months that I’d known Ashton, I’d learned to live again. For those six and a half months, I didn’t want to die. But he was gone now, and so was my reason for being.

  I closed my eyes and thought of Ashton. His eyes, and the way his hair felt when I ran my fingers through it. I thought of the way he held me at night, his laugh, his smile, and the amused way he would look at me when I was behaving like a bitch to him. I remembered the way he kissed me, his taste, the way his smell made me feel, and how his voice sounded when he said he loved me. I smiled at the thoughts, and was thankful that the nightmare that I called a life was finally over.

  A loud bang erupted out of nowhere. A gunshot, then another, and another, and another.

  I waited for the pain, but it never came. My eyes fluttered open, seeing Carter’s wide eyes. He coughed and blood gurgled o
ut of his mouth. He slumped down onto his knees in front of me, and another shot filled the room. My breath caught in my throat as he fell, face first onto the floor, with a heavy thump.

  He’s dead? But he can’t be dead; he was going to kill me! I looked up to see Ashton leaning against the wall, holding a gun out in front of him. His face was murderously angry. He was covered in blood and dirt, his T-shirt was ripped, and his body slightly hunched on one side as if he was nursing it. He looked like a hot freaking badass.

  I couldn’t speak. Confusion made my brain fuzzy. He was dead. I heard the shot. I saw him fall. He definitely died.

  He pushed off the wall, leaving a trail of blood smeared there and limped over to me, practically falling down to my side. He looked like hell. His face was broken and swollen, there was blood everywhere and his white T-shirt was now almost entirely red, from where it was soaked with blood. His hands were swollen and grazed and he could barely breathe, but he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life.

  My heart took off in overdrive. He’s alive? He didn’t die? Or am I dead too? Maybe this is heaven…

  “You okay, Baby Girl?” he asked, taking my face in his battered hands.

  “I… I… You… Ashton, you died. I heard it. You got shot, I saw you,” I choked out.

  “I’m okay, I promise. What about you?” he asked, touching my stomach worriedly.

  I winced, gritting my teeth against the pain. He moved forward and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly. I wrapped my tired arms around him, noticing how he flinched as I touched him.

  “Are you okay, Ashton?” I asked, touching his blood-soaked shirt. I pushed him away and moved the soggy, wet material away from his bicep, making him suck in a breath through the pain. I gagged as I saw the bullet wound on his upper arm, just before it met his shoulder. Blood was trickling out of it, running down his arm and dripping slowly from his fingers. I squirmed on the spot, thinking how painful it must be to have been shot. “Ashton, shit! We need to get you some help!” I cried, trying to get up. Pain coursed through my stomach and I screamed and slumped back to the floor in agony. It was so bad that I leant over and threw up again.
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