My blood went cold.
“The fuck you just say?”
“You heard me.” He stepped closer, gun still fixed on me. “You think people stupid? We see through that fake-ass relationship. She getting paid to play wifey, and you getting your image cleaned up. Business. So, stop standing there acting like you really got some claim on her.”
A slow, dangerous kind of heat crept up my spine.
He ain’t know shit. He was guessing, talking, and reaching. But the fact that he was even close enough to the truth to say that shit out loud made my stomach turn.
“You don’t know what the fuck you talking about.”
The words came out hard, but even I could hear the hollowness in them.
“Don’t I?” His finger shifted on the trigger. “That’s the difference between you and me. When I want something, I go get it for real. I don’t gotta pay for it. Don’t gotta fake it. And when somebody disrespects me?—”
The gun went off.
The sound cracked through the air so loud it felt like it split the whole night open.
I felt the bullet hit before my mind caught up. A brutal force slammed into my left shoulder and spun me halfway around. My legs buckled, and my hand flew to the wound on instinct.
Hot and wet.
Pain tore through me so violently it felt like somebody had driven fire straight through my flesh.
I hit the driveway hard, knees slamming against concrete, the world tipping sideways. For a second, all I could do was breathe around it. Or try to.
“Fuck,” I gasped.
Jamal’s footsteps came closer.
“That’s what you get.” His voice sounded far away, like it was echoing at the end of a tunnel. “That’s what you fucking get.”
I forced my eyes open and looked up at him. He was standing over me, chest heaving, gun still in his hand.
“Do it then. If you gon’ do it, do it.” I looked up at him.
But he didn’t. He just stood there, breathing hard, his hand trembling.
Then, he turned and ran.
I heard the car door slam. The engine roared. Tires screeched as he peeled out.
Then silence. Just me. Bleeding in my own driveway.
The pain got worse by the second, spreading hot and fast through my whole body. Blood soaked through my shirt, thick and sticky. My left arm was dead weight hanging at my side.
“Move. You gotta move.”
I tried to push up with my right arm, but the second I shifted, fresh agony ripped through my shoulder and dropped me right back down.
My phone was still in the car. The car sat only a few feet away, the driver’s door open. Might as well have been miles.
I started crawling. Dragging myself across the driveway with one arm while my legs barely did shit to help. Every inch felt like hell.
Get to the phone. Call for help. Don’t pass out.That’s what I told myself.
I made it to the car and grabbed at the seat with my right hand, fingers slick with blood. My grip nearly slipped, but I forced myself up enough to look inside.
