nothing at all.
I’m braced for….the safe door swinging open?
The cold metal creaks, and relief floods through me. Fast as I can, I shove my hand inside and grab the first object in my grasp. Hands shaking, I leap to my feet and draw the gun up in front of me.
“Freeze, motherfucker.”
That sounded braver in my head, but my hand is steady as I aim the gun at his chest.
Skullcap gapes at me as the water glass falls from his hand and shatters in the sink. “What the f—”
“I said freeze.” With one finger on the trigger, I risk a glance at the firearm I’ve grabbed. It’s the Glock with a silencer, the one I saw that first day. Breathing hard, I pray I’ll be brave enough to use it.
I pray harder I won’t have to.
Skullcap shakes his head, then sneers. “You think I’m gonna believe you can fire a fucking nine-millimeter? That you’ve got the balls to shoot someone?”
“I’ve had a bad week.” My finger trembles on the trigger. I don’t want to shoot. I just want him to leave.
He snorts. “You make this too easy.”
His hand whips to the gun at his waist, and he draws it up to point at me. “Bye, Princess.”
I yelp as he squeezes the trigger, dropping to my knees on the knotty pine floor. Something whizzes past my ear, but the sound is more a snap than a gun blast. It takes me a moment to realize his gun has a silencer.
Also, that he missed me.
“Stupid bitch.”
He raises his weapon to fire again, and I don’t hesitate. I aim and squeeze the trigger at the same time, scrunching my eyes shut. The gun bucks in my hand, and there’s a whiff of sulfur, accompanied by the same muffled crack.
A third bang goes off, this one louder than the other two. I open my eyes and whip my gaze toward the hall. To the place where the third shot rang out.
“Holy shit.”
Cort Bracelyn steps through the bathroom doorway, pistol gripped in his hand. He wears a blonde wig and mustache, but I’d recognize him anywhere. The green of his eyes is masked by colored contacts, but I know the shape of them from photos.
He’s not looking at me. He’s staring down at Skullcap on the floor. At the bullet hole blooming bright crimson in the center of the man’s forehead. The center, not the side.
You fired that shot. Not him. You did it, Izzy.
I push the thought aside and gape at the man whose cheekbones match mine.
“Son of a bitch.” My father shoves a pistol in the waistband of his slacks and looks at me. “Nice shot, darlin’”
I stare at him with my mouth wide open. “I—you—holy shit.”
“Yeah, that’s what the other kids said.” He laughs like this is hilarious, but I’m shaking too hard to see the humor. “Seriously, girl—that was a badass shot.”
“Th—thank you,” I manage to stammer. “I took shooting lessons.”
“I know.” He steps over to me and offers a hand up. “I paid for ‘em.”
My mother told me once that Cort Bracelyn sent money for my protection. I never grasped what that meant, but as he hoists me to my feet, I understand. “You did?”
“Yep.” He jerks his gaze to the doorway. “Paid for him, too.”
I turn to see Dante’s bulk filling the doorframe. He’s got a gun trained on Skullcap, in case the bullet in the man’s brain wasn’t enough to keep him down.
“Took me a minute to get here.” Still gripping a pistol, Dante steps fully into the room. “This guy had some friends I needed to deal with.”
I swallow hard and lower the gun I didn’t realize I’m still holding. “Where’s Kevin?”
“Safe.” Dante lowers his own weapon and surveys me. “You okay?”
I nod, though I’m not sure that’s true. I turn back to my father, half convinced he’s a figment of my imagination.
But no, my not-so-deceased dad is moving toward me, holding out his hand. “Give me that.”
“The gun?” I grip it tighter, struggling to know whom to trust. “What for?”
“Because I’m dead,” he says matter-of-factly. “Can’t be prosecuted for murder. You, on the other hand—”
“He’s right.” Dante jerks his chin at my father. “Give it to him. Or to me, and then get the hell out of here.”
“But—” I swing my gaze back to the body on the floor. “I killed someone.”
I don’t know this for sure. There were three shots fired, and as far as I can tell, only one hit the man on the floor.