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“I said let’s go!” the guy calls again.
The shadow steps into the dim light of the moon. The guy’s older than me, but not by much. Hat over his head, jeans, and a gun in his hand. “Did someone double back? I heard someone out here.”
My skin prickles, and as if he can hear my heart beating, he focuses on my general area.
And then he’s off. Gone. Running.
A new shadow cuts into the game and he’s heading to where I need to be. I chase and we’re trapped in a maze. My pulse pounds in my ears, my breaths come out in short bursts. An intersection of paths and then a loud male curse. “Dammit!”
My lungs burst with fear. Abby.
All the thoughts cease and it’s instinct. Find her. Protect her. Kill whoever has hurt her. The shadow crouches over a form. Pushing hair away from a face and my entire body seizes in pain. I reach down, swipe up a piece of long metal, swing it back and...
The shadow’s head snaps up and so do his arms. In his hands is a gun pointed straight at me, and right above him, the razor-sharp edge of the metal halts near his head.
“I’m with her,” he states.
My heart races and I wish for the cold blood th
at must run through Abby in order to live this life. “Prove it.”
“You were with her earlier. The two of you flirted all fucking night. Kissed near the stage.”
So he spied. “Not enough.”
“I haven’t shot your brains out yet.”
Good enough. I drop the metal and he lowers his gun then flips Abby over. Terror seizes me at the sight of blood seeping through her shirt and the gash on her head. I run a hand over my face. The police won’t find us fast enough. She’s dying and the police won’t find her. I swing Abby up in his arms and the guy jumps in front of me.
“What are you doing?” He’s in a ray of moonlight and I can see his face. This guy’s midtwenties and that ice exists in his eyes.
“I’m getting Abby help.” She’s too light, too pale, acting like a shattered porcelain doll, her breaths come out ragged and all that causes my heart to rip open.
He swipes up a phone—Abby’s phone—and a knife covered in blood.
“That’s evidence,” I say. “Leave it.”
He pockets both like I didn’t speak. “I’m aware.” I don’t have time to argue. As I shove past him, he grabs my arm. “Did you see who shot her?”
Yes, but I don’t trust him. “No.”
I jerk out of his hold and his gun’s out as he sprints ahead of me.
“You tell the police you were on a date,” he says. “You went to get the car. You got separated. Abby called. Got scared. Went into the alley to hide and you went after her. You never saw me and when Abby wakes up, tell her I got her phone and blade.”
“What’s your name?”
“She’ll know who I am,” he says as we reach the street. “Now go.”
Sirens. Multiple sirens. The gunshots. The bar scene. The place is a powder keg and they’ll be coming in hot. I look to the left, look to the right, no cops in sight, but a crowd begins to gather.
I shift Abby in my arms as she’s dead weight. Dead weight. Fury and fear collide in my chest. “Someone call 911. Tell them she’s shot.”
They stand there, staring, understanding from the sirens that police are on their way, but I need them here. Right here. Right now.
“Now!” I scream with so much force that the word scrapes my throat.
People react then. On their phones. Falling out into the streets. Throwing their hands in the air, waving down the cops.
