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Brody tries to take a step forward to stand in front of me—to block the trajectory of the gun—but the man’s stare makes Brody stop.
The man slides his index finger from the side of the gun until it curls around the trigger. His voice is a low, rumbling bass. “Move another inch and I’ll shoot her. Put the fucking bat down.”
I nod so Brody will obey. Brody doesn’t know how violent this man is. Really violent. He never plays games.
Brody eases the bat to the floor and then raises his hands. Compared to my trembling body, his is a sturdy mountain. “I have very alert neighbors. I’m sure the cops have been called. Put the gun away, leave, and maybe I won’t press charges.”
The man laughs. “You think I care? My life is shit. All I want is this bitch dead, but not before I beat some sense into her.” He turns his eyes back to me. “Get in the car and maybe I won’t hurt your friends.”
I glance at Brody. I don’t want Brody hurt. Or Amber. This man wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me. Their lives wouldn’t be in danger. I brought him here. I was stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
“She stays here,” Brody growls. “But you are leaving.”
The man laughs again. “Looks like you’ve been whoring yourself. Fine. Your idiot boyfriend can—”
The floor creaks in the hallway. Amber, who was lurking in the shadows, gasps. The man’s eyes dart from me, searching for the person he didn’t account for. His arms twitch just enough so the gun barrel hovers to the wall, away from my head.
All I can think to do is crouch. When I’m in danger, getting hit, my body knows to become as small as possible. So I do. I drop to the floor like my legs disappeared.
Brody lunges forward and knocks the man’s arms up. The gun fires with a thundering boom. The loudest sound I’ve ever heard. A bullet hits the ceiling fan. The light bursts. I scream. Glass rains over me as my ears ring, and the sharp smell of gunpowder fills my nostrils. I crawl around the edge of the couch, using it as a barrier.
Brody is clearly the strongest and wrestles the gun from the man’s grip. It drops, and he kicks it into the kitchen. Thankfully, it doesn’t go off again.
“You fucking—” the man spits, trying to elbow Brody in the jaw.
Brody spins him, shoving him back against the table until he’s bent over. Brody’s fist connects with the man’s face. Once. Twice. Again. He grins as he hits him a fourth time.
The man thrashes and twists, punching Brody’s side to get free. He manages to turn, tumbling to the floor, blood streaming down the side of his face as his purpling cheek swells.
Brody is strong, but the man is quick. He crawls toward the couch fast enough to avoid getting caught. Then he’s on his feet and moving toward me. I scream as he grips my arm and yanks me up.
Brody grabs him, pulling his hand off me, and flings him back. He crashes into the porn DVDs and curses.
Then it’s a blur.
Frank appears in the doorway with a rifle. The man pulls another gun, a smaller one, from behind him. He points it at me, finger squeezing the trigger without hesitation. I cover my ears. It fires at the same moment Brody lunges in front of me.
I scream.
Amber, who is now out of the hallway, screams. She picks up the first gun that was kicked into the kitchen but isn’t sure what to do with it, so she stands there trembling as much as me.
Brody groans. Then he grabs the man and shoves him hard into another corner of the living room. With a clear path, Frank shoots. The man slouches against the wall, the front of his shirt dark and wet. His body drops straight to the floor. Dead.
I close my eyes, hands still covering my ears. The ringing won’t stop and my nose is burning from the smell of gun smoke. I’ve never seen a dead person. I’ll never get the blank stare out of my memories. Eyes that are just eyes and nothing else.
“I called the cops,” Frank states. “And I’ll grab Mrs. Cho.” He leaves.
Then it’s over.
Not over.
When I open my eyes to look at Brody, I stop breathing, my body threatening to shake into a thousand splintered pieces. Blood soaks through the side of his shirt, trickling to his feet and the floor.
Panting, he looks down. “That’s going to leave a mark,” he says and tries to smirk, but it turns into a grimace. He carefully inches to the couch to sit.
I rush to his side, kneeling on the cushion next to him. I cover my mouth. I did this. I brought that man here. I got Brody hurt.
Please, Brody can’t be hurt.
