In a gasp-worthy move, Armando somehow makes it back up just in time, swinging the heavy metal plant stand at the guy’s head. The guy goes down hard and stays there.
In case you ever wondered, there’s no mistaking death when you see it.
The shape his body takes is so completely askew. His neck is clearly broken.
Armando’s hands tremble as he takes in the sight of the man lying motionless before him. I feel a chill go down my spine as shock paralyzes me in place.
Armando looks around the room, as if expecting to see more enemies coming for him, and I do the same.
What’s coming next? What was that? What the fuck was that?
This can’t be happening. Is this really happening?
Is there a bloody man lying dead in the middle of my florist shop?
The room is silent but for the sound of a ticking clock and the ringing in my ears.
Armando curses and drops to his knees, checking the guy’s pulse.
Then he moves quickly—all efficiency and practice. He locks my door, closes the blinds and turns the sign to closed. He picks up the gun then drags the body past the counter toward the back. “Don’t move,” he tells me as he passes.
Don’t move.
I don’t know why, but until that moment, I hadn’t considered my life might be in danger.
I was an observer, and I was rooting for one side to win.
My pick won the round.
But now it sets in that we’re not going to be slapping high fives here. A guy just got killed in my shop, and I witnessed it.
I’m the only witness.
And the killer told me not to move. Which means I should definitely move.
Armando drags the body into my cooler. He’s going to come out here and deal with me next.
That’s a problem. I grab my purse and quietly, quickly walk past the cooler.
I sense Armando near, but I don’t stop. I know if I do, it will be my last mistake. My heart pounds, and I can feel the sweat on my palms. I’m almost halfway to freedom when I hear a noise from the back of the shop. I spin to see Armando walking slowly towards me, gun in hand and a menacing look on his face. He’s not going to let me go this easily. He takes a few more steps towards me, and I know I’m not going to make it out alive. I turn back towards the door, but it’s too late. He’s almost at me now, and there’s no escape.
“Stop. I said don’t fucking move!” That voice. He does command so well, every cell in my body wants to obey.
But that would be stupid, so I break into a run.
“Hannah.”
Surprise that he remembered my name makes me falter. The hesitation costs me. He’s on me in a flash, grabbing my elbow and whipping me around.
“I said, don’t move.”
God, he’s still devastatingly handsome. Square jaw. Aquiline nose. Hazel eyes with long lashes. He’s so close, I smell the scent of Rocco’s shaving cream on him. He’s in a crisp, expensive blue button-down, open at the throat to reveal a clean white undershirt.
“I’m on your side,” I say on exhale.
I’m not sure if it’s self-preservation that makes me say the words or if it’s the actual truth. I know Armando. I actually always liked the man… maybe a little too much.
I am on his side. I am.
