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No, not again.
Stace drops to his knees.
“Hands behind your head.”
Stace slowly brings his hands up to behind his head.
“I love you, Rosh,” he whispers almost to himself.
My father walks around behind him and places the gun to the back of his head.
“Stop it!” I scream. “No, please,” I beg.
Two gunshots ring out.
“No!” I cry.
But it is my father that drops to the ground.
A bullet hole right through his forehead and another through his chest.
My eyes fly up to the ceiling above to see two men in black with sniper rifles hidden in the beams.
My face screws up in tears of relief and I drop my head and weep. Stace falls back to the ground from his knees.
He is covered in blood and exhausted.
A siren rings out from outside, and suddenly, after a commotion, ten policemen come storming through the doors in full swat gear.
They run to me. “Roshelle.” The policeman unties me. “Are you okay?” He lifts his face to meet mine. “What happened?”
“A man came in and shot him,” I whisper.
“What man?” the policeman asks.
“He left in a car,” I whisper as my eyes find Stace.
The hit men came through.
I need to cover for them because they just saved our lives.
25
I inhale deeply as I try to get comfortable. I’m half asleep, groggy, and incoherent.
“Shelly,” a familiar voice whispers.
I frown in the semi-lit room. Who is that?
“Shelly,” the voice whispers again. “Come back to me.”
I frown as I drag my eyes open and the pain in my leg throbs. It’s semi-dark, dusk, maybe. I glance around at my surroundings. I’m in a hospital room.
What? Where am I?
“Shelly. Oh my God. I thought I was going to lose you,” he whispers as he drops his head to rest on the bed.
I frown. What the hell? “Where?” I stop myself.
