behind, fuck knows why.
I’m closer to Cass than they are, but I’m still too far away.
All I can say is, thank God for Miss Langley’s lemonade.
When I grit my teeth and push, I go a little faster. I clear the hedge separating me from Cass like an Olympic hurdler.
I crash into him just as the door opens.
Just in time to see Trinity’s shocked face.
Just in time to see the shadow deeper in the house.
A man, lifting a gun.
Because of course he has a fucking gun. Why wouldn’t he?
Cass and I go over another rose bush. He’s yelling. I scramble up, dart back to the door.
Trinity is still standing there, blocking me. She doesn’t seem to realize she’s about to die.
It’s better, not knowing.
As soon as I shove her out of the way, that gun is on me. Pointing at me. I know I’m already dead.
And the knowledge sits there like heartburn in my brain. It tries to overwhelm me, to render me useless through fear, but I shove it away even harder than I shoved her away.
I sprint down the passage. Three steps, and I’m there. Staring into a pair of brown eyes that should recognize me, but don’t.
When I slam into Gabriel, the gun goes off.
But it’s fine, because it doesn’t hurt. I’m still moving, still fighting.
I herd him backward through momentum and rage. Pushing, pushing.
We end up in the living room a second later. His teeth are bared like a wild animal’s. I’m snarling like a beast. We tackle each other, end up on the carpet. I get a blow to his head. He gets a knee to my groin.
And then the gun goes off again.
And this time…
This time there is pain.
It’s vast and it’s endless and fucking magnificent in its abundance.
But that’s not fine, because now I can’t fight anymore. And Gabriel…he’s on his feet. He’s running.
Thank you Jesus.
He’s not running toward the front door. Toward Trinity or my brothers.
The cowardly fuck is running away.
Thank Christ.
I try to cross myself, but my body just lies there.
Body and mind. Two different things entirely.
I’m still here. I’m still conscious. But all I can do is watch and observe—paralyzed as, all around me, the world dissolves into chaos.
Chapter Twenty
Rube
I’ve never felt so torn in my life. My body is being sent in two different directions by a mind suddenly unable to prioritize. But I’m rooted to the spot because this is where Zachary is lying.
We’re in Trinity’s living room, judging from the couches and the dusty television set. But Trinity’s not here. She’s still in the passage by the front door.
That’s where I want to be.
I caught a glimpse of Gabriel a second before he turned a corner and disappeared toward the back of the house. No doubt escaping through the back door we would have been covering if Cass hadn’t been so fucking impulsive.
That’s where I want to be too.
Instead I’m standing here, watching Zachary’s blood soak into the carpet.
And then Trinity screams, and it’s as if everyone’s minds come back from wherever they’d wandered off to.
“He’s getting away!” Cass says, but he’s running toward Trinity, not Gabriel.
Apollo falls to his knees beside me, inadvertently soaking his jeans in blood. “Is he dead?”
I don’t know.
I just don’t fucking know.
“Call an ambulance,” I tell Apollo.
But now his hands are full of blood because he was trying to stop it running out of the two holes in Zachary’s torso, and that’s freaking him out and he’s gone and frozen up.
“Apollo!”
Brown eyes snap to me. “Yes?”
He can’t be here. Not around all this blood. Like a fucking candle in a snow storm.
And I can’t let Gabriel get away either.
It shouldn’t be this easy to make crucial decisions, but it’s as if there’s no choice to make at all.
“Don’t let him get away!” My voice is too loud—it booms back to us—but maybe that’s what gets Apollo on his feet. I stab a finger down the passage. “Follow him!”
Apollo turns and runs.
“Just follow him!” I yell after Apollo’s retreating back, with no clue if he heard me or not.
Then it’s back to Zach because a glance behind me shows Cass is examining Trinity like he just got his Ph.D.
Guess neither of them is phoning the ambulance.
I fish my phone out of my pocket. There’s a part of me that’s sitting back and watching me operate, and it’s gobsmacked that I’m still functioning. That I’m lucid. That my voice is legible when the 911 operator on the other end of the line answers my