Today I finally hit the climax of the story, which of course has me both happy and sad. While I can’t say that “Castaway” will be the last AHW story (it keeps going in my head, and I have ideas on how to continue the story), any time I come to the end of a book I’m both exhilarated that I finished and sad to say goodbye to my characters, even if only for a short while.
Plus, it usually means I have to start on edits. Least favorite part of writing for me because its so much WORK! 😉 (vs the fun of simply creating)
I’ve been told by several friends I should get online more often, connect with readers and others. I’m usually better, but life has gotten busy lately. Deadlines, buying houses (well, technically just one house), writing, life in general – it’s busy around Casa de Fawkes lately!
But never mind that. You came for snippets! I had a mind to thrown in the whole scene but it was rather long, and I didn’t want any TL;DR comments (which ill probably now get for mentioning that lol). 😉 We’re winding down to the end and amping up the action, which is always the most fun for me to write!! 😉
Without thinking about the consequences, I dove for Anderson’s weapon, unsnapped the holster and pulled it free. In the commotion, all eyes turned toward me, and I knew I needed to act fast. Ignoring the pain in my ankle, I threw myself straight at Ronny, grabbing his clothing and shoving us both back.
The hallway was narrow and we crashed into the far wall, a tangle of limbs and bodies. The two men holding Ronny were caught unprepared, and lost their grip on the handcuffed informant’s arms. We collapsed to the ground, me atop the stunned man, the gun still in my hand and pointed toward his head. The sneer was gone from Ronny’s face now, his eyes bugging out from fear, but I didn’t care.
Up close, he smelled even worse than I’d imagined. His lips were pulled back in shock, revealing brown teeth and foul breath that made me want to gag. The gun was loose against his chest, and I managed to get my wits about me fast enough to move it toward his face.
I ignored Marie’s voice, bringing the gun up and under Ronny’s chin. Around me I heard shouting and the other people with guns pulling them from their holsters, but my eyes didn’t leave Ronny’s face. The anger that set me down this path wasn’t a sustainable resource. I felt fear bloom inside my chest at my actions, making it difficult to breathe.
“She can’t do this!” Beneath me, Ronny squirmed, unable to do much with his arms trapped beneath him.
His words triggered a memory in my head, and I looked down at the gun. Hands pulled at me, trying to separate me from Ronny. I pressed a small black tab right above the trigger and yelled, “Hands off or he’s dead.”
I sounded like a bad cop movie, but the words worked. The hands let me go, and clicking off the safety ratcheted up the fear in Ronny’s face. I pushed the gun up, my hand trembling with adrenaline. “Where did he take them?”
“How should I know?” Ronny was stiff as a board beneath me, his eyes wide and staring straight at my hand.
The gun shook against his neck, and I hoped he would think it was rage and not fear. All I could think about was Lucas with the doctors, and Jeremiah somewhere in danger. Could I actually pull the trigger? I wasn’t sure.
But I knew if I saw that smirk on that little weasel’s face again, pulling the trigger would be much easier.