Blood spatters onto the carpet and stains my shirt. Someone starts screaming when Rory stumbles and drops to one knee, groaning in pain.
It takes several seconds before I realize I’m the screamer.
My throat aches from the force as Rory crumples, a dark spot rapidly growing on the carpet beneath him.
“No, no, no,” I plead as I throw myself down beside him, cupping his cheeks in my hands.
My life—not the one I’ve led but another—flashes before my eyes.
A future life with Rory.
Visions of us together. Walking hand in hand in the streets of Paris, backpacking in Nepal, patronizing one of those cheesy tourist traps in Italy, cramming into a rickshaw in India…
His blood seeps into the carpet and beyond, nipping the whites of my sneakers.
Nausea strangles me as I cover the wound with my hands to try to stanch the bleeding.
I see him dying, but I feel like it’s me on the floor. Everything I ever wanted in life is fading right before my eyes.
Rough fingers cuff around my upper arm.
Leo yanks me to my feet. I scream and fight, clawing at any skin I can find. Punching and kicking until, with a curse, Leo backhands me across the face.
“Keep it up, and I’ll shoot him one more time for good measure.”
I immediately stop fighting and let him drag me toward the front door, my eyes never leaving Rory’s still face. An ashen cast strips the healthy color from his skin as blood drains from his wound.
“Move it,” Leo growls, pulling me over the threshold and into the street.
The door to Midnight Books closes, obscuring Rory’s motionless body from view.
I can’t even breathe. There’s no room for air when my body is this full of despair. I don’t think my heart’s beating.
Leo shoves me into the plush backseat of a waiting SUV. I hit the leather hard, nearly bashing my head against the window.
None of my reflexes are working.
I don’t even have enough willpower to catch myself when I’m falling.
Leo climbs in behind me and slams the door. We’re already moving.
“You must be the dumbest bitch in New York City.” Leo’s cruel laughter echoes in the background of my mind. He sounds so far away.
Probably because I left my heart and soul in that bookshop behind us.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” He pulls a cigar from his lapel pocket, the same acrid brand Enzo used to smoke. “The Kings may think they have this city under lock and key, but I know far more than they ever could.”
He lights up without rolling down a window, adding smog to the backseat with his every exhale. “Power means nothing if someone holds your vulnerability in the palm of their hand.”
Still reeling, Leo’s words bounce right off me.
Not a single one sinks in.
Can someone even survive a gunshot to the chest?
Is Rory already dead? Who could survive losing that much blood?
If he dies…it’ll be my fault.
