It was the first time I’d ever killed anyone.
I didn’t have time to think about what just happened. I didn’t have time to process the consequences of my actions. I’d shot a gun before, but I’d never aimed at a person. The man collapsed to the floor, dead instantly.
There was no time for regret. I was doing this to save my life—and Sapphire’s.
The gunshot was loud and filled the apartment with the sound of an explosion.
I ran to the front room, looking for the exit so I could dart out of there.
“Knuckles, she has a gun!” The second henchman hid behind the couch and pointed his gun at me. He pulled the trigger, but the shot missed me by less than an inch.
Knuckles came from the other way and snatched my ankle. He yanked me until I tripped and hit the ground.
I kicked as hard as I could, then pointed the gun in his face.
He smacked it out of the way and tugged on my ankle again.
I turned hard, making my foot come loose. Then I kicked him hard in the nose, hearing it crack loudly.
I snatched the gun and sprinted for the door again.
This time, the lackey shot me—and hit me.
The bullet went into my arm, making my body jerk with the momentum. I’d never been shot, and I had no idea how it would feel. The thing that surprised me most was how painless it was. I didn’t feel anything. Completely numb, all I felt was the heat from the bullet. I wanted to fall down and lie still, but I had to keep going.
I might die if I didn’t.
I made it out the front door and sprinted down the hallway. I had to push my body to the limit, to keep going no matter how much I wanted to stop. A bullet could enter the back of my skull at any moment.
And this could all be over.
17
Conway
Our SUVs were parked right against the curb, looking conspicuous with their blacked-out windows and bulletproof glass. There were at least twenty men with us, half of them with Carter and me and the other half with my father and Uncle Cane.
My father got out of the SUV and walked toward me, his leather jacket over his shoulders. His black t-shirt underneath looked a little puffy, and I knew that was because he was wearing a bulletproof vest underneath. “We should start on foot. Vehicles are more obvious. And if he’s inside one of these apartments, we don’t want him to notice us until the last minute.”
“Do you think he realized what Vanessa said?”
“Hope not. If he did…we won’t see him until the meeting tonight. And we’ll have to come up with a different plan.”
Uncle Cane came up behind him, dressed similarly and with the same pissed-off expression in his eyes. His gun sat on his hip, and he didn’t look the least bit happy to see me. He barely greeted Carter.
When my mother emerged from the back of the SUV, I actually had to do a double take. “What’s Mom doing here?”
My father didn’t look at her over his shoulder. “Let her be.”
“This is no place for her,” I argued. “How could you let her come along?”
“He tried,” Uncle Cane said. “It didn’t work.”
My father didn’t hide his look of disappointment, but he stuck to his guns. “This is her daughter. There was nothing I could do to get her to stay behind. And she’s pretty damn good with a gun. She agreed to stay in the rear.”
I couldn’t believe that my father, the most protective man on the planet, had allowed this to happen. I didn’t consider my mother to be weak by any means, but a war zone was no place for her. “We should split into two groups and circle the block in different directions. If one of us uncovers something, we’ll radio to you.”
“Alright,” my father said. “We’ll—”
Gunshots fired into the air.
Our heads snapped in different directions, hearing the backfire echo in the streets. Men pulled their guns from their holsters. My mom was the quickest to draw her weapon.
The gunshots could be caused by anyone, but it was too much of a coincidence.
“It’s her,” my father said. “Let’s move.”
We sprinted down the road and cut over onto the next block. We all took different routes, preparing to come into contact with the shooters. I reached an apartment complex with Carter first, and the second we turned to the gate, we spotted her.
Vanessa.
She tripped on the concrete as she ran, the gun sliding out of her hand and hitting the ground. Blood soaked her clothes and streaked down her arm. A gunshot wound was in her left arm, and it was obvious her flesh had just been punctured.
Motherfucker.
I sprinted to her, my gun still secured in my hand. “Vanessa!”