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I head to the cosmetics section and throw some foundation into my basket because I bet I look like shit. As I pass a mirror, my fears are confirmed. Yellowish-blue bruising covers my face, and my hair sits in dreadlocked clumps. I won’t even touch on the topic of my clothes.
As I’m throwing in some other face products to make me appear a little more human, I pass an elderly shopper who suddenly stops and stares, her face paling to an ashen white.
From her reaction alone, I decide to throw in some toothpaste, shampoo and conditioner, and some extra toiletries. Warmer clothes are also definitely in order, as I’ve heard Canada is freezing this time of year.
While I’m blindly tossing items into my basket, I notice a mother ushering her children away from me with a horrified look on her concerned face.
What the fuck is going on? Surely, I don’t look that bad, do I?
Just as I’m about to go in search for Quinn, a hand clutches onto my arm, startling me, and I yelp in surprise.
“We have to leave. Now.”
I don’t understand what’s going on until I look around the store and notice thateveryone islooking at us.
“Quinn?” I ask, my eyes taking in everything around me.
“Just walk,” he demands, ushering me toward the door.
Nodding, I lower my basket onto the floor and latch onto Quinn’s hand as he leads the way toward the exit.A few shoppers turn away frightened, while others hide with fear apparent in their wide eyes.
I don’t understand what’s going on, and as a mother turns her child’s face away from me like I’m a monster, I trip over my feet, stunned. Quinn all but drags me toward the door but halts when we see the shop front lit up by red and blue flashing lights.
At this moment, my heart drops to the floor.
“Fuck!” Quinn snarls softly as he stops in his tracks at the sight of five police cars surrounding the front of the store.
I see a dozen policemen armed and suited up with bulletproof vests, ready to take us down.
“We called the police!” a pimpled clerk yells, hiding behind the register. “She’s worth a quarter million dollars.”
His words resonate in my brain, reminding me of Justin. Is that all I am to people? A fucking reward?
Quinn curses before whispering in my ear, “Forgive me.”
Before I have time to react, he roughly seizes my bicep and spins me around, holding me prisoner as he wraps his arm around my neck, crushing my windpipe.
“What the fuck? Quinn!” I choke out but freeze when the unmistakable metal of a gun barrel presses into my temple.
The whole store gasps, and I watch them all duck for cover or raise their hands in surrender.
“She’s not worth anything if she’s dead. Where’s the back door?” Quinn shouts at the not-so-confident clerk as he steers us out of sight of the police.
“It’s—it’s—that way,” he stutters, pointing behind us before dropping to the ground.
Quinn’s smart. He’s ensured the police can’t see us, but he wants everyone inside this store to witness him holding a gun to my head. And he’s done this with intent. He wants the onlookers to believe that I’mhishostage, andhe’sthe guilty one. He’s taking the blame—just like I was going to do for him.
My hands clutch at my throat, desperately attempting to pry him off me, but as I struggle, Quinn’s hold only gets tighter, and I know he won’t let me go.
“Quinn!” I yell, but he hushes me by pressing harder onto my windpipe.
Tears roll down my cheeks as Quinn sacrifices himself for me. When the police question everyone in the store, they will recount seeing Quinn pull the gun on me, making it appear that I’m innocent, confusing the police.
He’ll be in so much trouble for this. I know if we get caught, he’ll say he forced me to do all the illegal things we’re accused of, including killing Hank.
If anyone is going down, it’ll be him. His words take on a whole different meaning when I asked him, “How did you know I was going to the police?” And he replied that he would do the same for me.
He’s taking the blame—all of it. But I can’t let him.
