Page 44 of The Death of Sunday

She throws her head back to hit him, but he angles his face away. A frustrated scream tears from her, but she locks eyes with me. “Shoot him, Cage. Shoot me. I don’t care. I’m ready to die.”

“I’m not going to shoot you, Darcy,” I say. “You deserve to get through this.”

She breathes fast, shaking her head. “You don’t know the things I’ve done.”

“You survived.”

“Don’t make excuses for me!” she shouts, but her anger fades as her gaze flicks behind me. “Hey, bestie.”

I don’t take my eyes off Michael, but I can feel Sunday’s presence like a heat. Once she’s beside me, I resist the urge to reach for her, to check her heart is still beating.

“Michael,” Sunday says softly. “Darcy is working with the FBI. Even if you get out, they know everything. She’s told them everything.” Michael tightens his hold on Darcy, his jaw tight. There’s no chance to absorb the information, but maybe things will make some fucking sense once we’re out of this mess.

“Give up, let me take you in,” I say. “This place is going to be crawling with cops soon. There’s no getting out. Go easy, and you can make a deal.”

Michael’s eyes dart between Sunday and me. He wets his lips. “I’ll die in prison.”

“Not if you talk. Let Darcy go and put your hands behind your head.” The steady thumping of helicopter blades closes in, a beam of light setting the trees aglow as my team closes in. “You’re running out of time, Michael.”

The wind picks up as the helicopter closes in, the pulse of the spinning blades putting pressure on my ears. The sound is all-consuming, the wind whipping up the surface of the pool, spitting water across the tiles. Darcy squeezes her eyes closed, her hair dancing around her as Michael weighs options he doesn’t have.

A blur of darkness to my left has me turning and raising my gun. The seconds slow along with the beating of my heart when I realize it’s law enforcement.

“Gun, gun, gun!” Someone bellows—and opens fire.

A bullet slams into my chest and I’m thrown.

Pain and blood bloom, and my head snaps back, cracking against the paving stones. White bursts across my vision, the spinning black blades hovering above me blurs into a disc of darkness. Orders are shouted over the scream of the helicopter, and I grunt, turning onto my side.

“No,” I whisper, the word is barely audible above the thumping of boots as agents swarm the property. Sunday is on her side, eyes open, blood pumping from her neck. “No.” I pull myself over to her, ignoring the pain that rages through my body. Blood pumps through my fingers as I press my hand to her wound. “You’ll be okay. Look at me, Sun. You’re gonna be fine.” Her eyes are wide, panicked, and she grips my hand, blood and sweat slick across our palms. Tears burn my eyes as I watch the life seeping from the woman I love.

“Don’t … don’t leave,” she whispers, a tear falling free and into her hair.

“I won’t, I won’t go anywhere.” I kiss her, pressing my forehead to hers. Darkness washes across my vision, the line between pain and grief blurring. “I won’t leave you this time, I promise.”

The noise fades. The lights of the helicopter dim.

Memories overtake everything else. A city flickering by, arms around my waist, and Sunday’s laughter.