On the Run by M Zeigler (online e reader txt) 📕

Devon whirls around with his gun aimed at me and I smile wider, he knows he just openly allowed me to walk him right into a double cross. Did he really think after three generations of hatred between our families that I was just going to give someone up for some cash?

 “Of course, blood doesn’t exactly make you family. Or have you forgotten that, Devon?” I reply sadistically reminding Devon that his family has not contacted mine in thirty or more years.  Barrette cracks his knuckles hoping to draw my focus off of Devon, as Barrette walks towards Devon he starts tensing his muscles getting ready to submit a beat down on the punk that both of us wish would die already. Just not tonight, and not by my hand, I’ve already as good as hung myself by killing the three henchmen here.

Barrette swings his massive fist into the back of Devon’s head knocking the arrogant prick down a few pegs but not rendering him unconscious. To mine and Barrette’s surprise, Devon rolls over and fires a single shot at Barrette striking him in the shoulder.

“There they are! Stop them!” I hear from the ladder, looking up I see twenty more men come over the edge of the building via the ladder. All of them are Devon’s henchmen and they are all armed and dangerous.

 “Go! Run!” I scream at Barrette turning him towards the fenced side of the building, he is in serious pain right now but he still takes off running with me close beside him.

 Both of us stops at the edge of the building and look down, Barrette quickly looks to me wondering what we are supposed to do now. Can you blame him? He isn’t thinking the same way I do, all he is seeing is a fairly steep drop to hard packed dirt.

“Do you wanna die here?” I ask him, he gives me an incredulous look probably thinking did you seriously just ask me that?

 “Then Jump.” I reply, with that said I dive feet first off the edge of the building showing him how to catch the chain link fence with only one arm. He follows my example, and by the time he is half way down the fence I’m already on the ground waiting. Devon’s henchmen are high above looking down knowing that they cannot start shooting us without being shot by security that is already heading in their direction. “Ha-ha!” I shout up at them before turning to Barrette to grab his uninjured arm with hopes he will easily let me drag him to my car for a perfectly executed escape.

 “Come on let’s go, my car is parked just over there.” I say to Barrette when he doesn’t move.

“Bonnie.” He says simply, I look back at him only to find he is set on staying here at the landing point. “Barrette, I know this is your life, your career, but you are putting all of those people in danger.” I say to him with a sad understanding look in my eyes.

I know he wants to stay here and do the right thing, it’s become a recent part of his nature but Devon will escape and will start picking off people until Barrette surrenders. If we run, Devon will play dumb with the police and follow us within no time at all!

 “We can get the police involved.” Barrette suggests again, I give him my best sympathetic look. “We’ve been over this, Barrette, if we get police involved then Devon will not be so easy to defeat next time. He will start targeting everyone around you, including Chelsea. And after that show of violence up there I will be charged with murder, I won’t be able to stay and help you.” I say to the star standing in front of me knowing that he has a thing for the adorable little blonde, I actually sound compassionate when I speak to him. This man is changing me for the better, I don’t like it.

 Barrette looks back towards the party that broke up early then makes a move to run with me.  Even as we make our escape I can see the hurt in his eyes, part of me wants to give in and stay here to try and figure out how to solve this problem but I know that running is the best option for both of us.

“Urgh, woman, I swear you are the last person on earth that needs to own any dangerous weapon!” Barrette growls as I use one of my many thin bladed knives to carve the bullet slug out of his shoulder. It’s been three hours since the disaster at the fairgrounds and so far everyone seem to be safe, well everyone except Barrette, he’s right I really shouldn’t be allowed to play with dangerous objects.

 On a less sinister note we did manage to make it safely out of city limits without being caught; shockingly no one put Barrette’s face on every beer can, milk jug, and Harley Davidson motorcycle part box nationwide; I think it’s safe to say we should be in the clear at least until morning. Barrette speculated earlier on the drive out of town that Alden, and Chelsea must’ve told his manager Marcus that I showed up and then urged the old timing band manager to believe that Barrette was safe.

“Oh suck it up. You’re the one with the reflexes of a one legged cat with epilepsy!” I reply to  Barrette as I give a slight yet firm twist of the knife finally dislodging the copper chunk. Barrette glares at the metal fragment accusingly, he knows all too well that it’s not the bullets fault ‘it’s always the man or woman holding the gun and never the gun itself.’ For me the metal is the least of my worries, with the bullet gone from his shoulder the wound begins bleeding again and a lot more than it did after the initial injury.  Using some basic first aid knowledge taught to me by my Aunt I quickly cover the wound and apply pressure to it so that the bleeding will stop.

Barrette looks up at me now when he realizes that I am taking it easy on his sore shoulder, like I said earlier tonight, he is changing me for the better. If this were any other person I more than likely would have gouged the blade deeper inciting more pain for the person complaining.

 “Hold that on the wound until the bleeding slows down or stops. And would put that bourbon down, you shouldn’t be drinking.” I say smacking my glass of whiskey out of his hands causing the fake crystal glass to hit the counter, spill its contents then roll to the floor where it shatters in the same spot the bullet slug landed. I watch the floor for the longest time not being able to help but wonder if that small accident is actually a warning sign of some sort. Meanwhile Barrette is looking at me with an angry challenging look as he grabs the entire bottle and tosses back several gulps.

“I think I earned it tonight, I’ve been shot at and hit, and I have a homicidal maniac on my trail and I’m riding with a murderer!” Barrette replies loudly almost shouting at me as I look around the warehouse we are hiding in.

 It’s one of the safe houses that my sister told me about, she converted the kitchen into a bar and then took one of the office rooms and made a bedroom up there. This place used to be an underground fighting ring, a really good one until an undercover cop found it and the place was raided, that was years ago though so there shouldn’t be much to worry about now.

“Yeah, homicidal maniac that we need to start working on how we’re going to catch. And I resent that last statement I’m not a murderer, it was you or the goons, I chose to let you live a little longer.” I sigh bitterly while running both my hands through my hair. As I gather my hair back into a pony tail I was Barrette pull the rag back from his shoulder, the wound is only oozing clear plasma now which is comforting. After closing the tie around my hair I look at my hands only to realize I realize I still have Barrette’s blood on my hands which means that his blood is now in my hair. Oh well, it’s not the first time I’ve had blood in my hair, I was a vet tech for a few months so this is nothing new to me. Although tonight I really must look like a murderer, I’m almost one hundred percent covered in Andrew, and Marty’s blood, plus when I shot the third desperado she really sprayed blood all over me. Now I have Barrette’s blood coating my hand so maybe he is right to call me a killer. Femme Fatal anyone?

After walking around the bar I rummage through my duffel bag desperately searching for the first aid kit, the orange box makes itself visible under a pair of sweat pants and a Led Zeppelin T shirt that should have been thrown out a long time ago. The logo is gone from the cloth, all except for the word ZoSo, other than that it’s nothing but strings and holes but it makes a good night shirt.

With the first aid kit open I start prepping the needle and thread that will be used to sew up Barrette’s shoulder, the man is already in pain but I can’t give him any oral medication to some anesthetize his injury due to the alcohol. I guess I can use a topical spray, or something that will work a bit better; a quick injection to the nerves immediately around the wound. That really isn’t a good idea either but he should be just fine, the man is big enough, he’ll burn through that alcohol in a few hours plus the nerve blocker wear off in a few hours anyhow.

“On second thought, you might want to start drinking more of that.” I inform as Barrette eyes the needle wearily, or I can just let him get drunk and lessen the injection dose which will work  just fine for me because we may need this later on.  Without any objection at all from Barrette, he takes hold of the bottle drinks down about half the remaining copper contents, which in this case is eighty proof Kentucky Bourbon.

“Ya know, I still cannot believe this.” I start off prompting a discussion as I load a syringe with two point five CC’s of Bupivicane syrup that my aunt put in a first aid kit after I told her, my dad, and uncle that I was leaving to chase Devon.

 “What is hard to believe darlin?” Barrette asks sounding entirely sober even though he just drank enough to intoxicate a small horse, the man seems to hold alcohol the same way I do, straight vodka doesn’t have much effect without bottle two coming into question. I can’t say that is something to be proud of, the reason he holds his alcohol so well is the same reason I do, alcoholism, and that I’m afraid is something I’m not proud of. The difference is, Barrette has overcome his battle, and I’m still in the middle of drinking my life away.

“Think about it, fate is really messing with us both. You make it a point to hunt down one random fan that really made your teams hearts feel all fuzzy. And you find me in the last possible way anyone could ever think up. For me, I figured you would never receive that fan mail, and yet you received it due to defective computer