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When I open my eyes, Zoe is standing in front of me with the gun still raised and tears rolling down her cheeks. Her bottom lip quivers as she keeps the gun at the ready.
I approach her, careful not to startle her.
I place one hand on the gun and lower it down.
When she doesn’t resist me, I take it from her, checking it over before flicking on the safety.
I turn around.
The guy on the ground isn’t wearing a mask.
My breath hitches as I look down at the man who used to be like a second father to me.
Blood trickles out of Demarco’s head and onto the ground.
More lines crease his face than I remember, and his eyes are faded. Scars cover his cheeks, and in his hand there is a gun.
I kick the gun away from him before crouching down and feeling for a pulse.
No more blood seeps from the bullet wound between his eyes.
I choke back a sob, stuffing it down as far as I can.
I kneel beside the body, looking at the man I thought was dead for years.
He should have been dead.
If he were dead like I believed him to be, then none of this would have happened.
I wouldn’t have been killing people who wanted to kill me for the last few years.
There was no way that I would have entertained the deal with Zoe’s father.
Hell, I might not have even gone to Colombia with the cartel for years. We wouldn’t have had to go into hiding.
I would have never married Zoe.
And now it’s all over.
Demarco Jones is dead.
Zoe’s strangled cry breaks through the thoughts swirling through my mind.
I turn to face her, not sure what to do.
She sinks to the ground, staring at the man she just killed.
Tears continue to stream down her cheeks. Her eyes shine as she stares at Demarco like she’s seeing a ghost.
I don’t know what to say to make this better. I never wanted her to have to do that.
The reality of our situation dawns on me.
She went against her own principles. She fired a gun and killed a man to protect me.
She never should have had to kill for me.
I move to kneel in front of her, cupping her face in both my hands.
