She smiles at me, a huge gash across her cheek and her left eye all swollen. I don't have the time to feel relieved that she’s at least alive because he has a gun against her temple. Why is she smiling?

“What did you do to her?” I yell.

He leers at me. “What didn't we do to her?” he asks, grinding into her back.

I see red.

I charge at him and he pushes her away and against me. I clench my teeth in pain; all the adrenaline made me forget I have a gunshot wound in my shoulder.

He turns to run away and I raise my gun to shoot him, holding up Leighton with my bad arm.

I was always told shooting someone when they turn their back on you is not an honorable thing to do. In fact, this is what Stevie himself taught me.

Well, fuck honor. This prick has killed my family, manipulated me, and now, he’s done God knows what to the one person I’d kill for at this point.

I shoot him in his left leg, then the other, and he falls down, cursing in pain. He turns around on the floor, his gun pointed at us, and I quickly pull Leighton in the storage room, placing her down to sit. She clutches with her arms around my neck when I try to pull away, so I forcefully unclamp them and leave her sitting there, heading back out.

“No, stay,” she calls for me, a desperate sound that stops me in my tracks.

I come back to her, thinking I'm wasting time but I need to make sure she's okay. I cup her face in my hands. She looks at me, her eyes unfocused, her pupils dilated, and smiles. “Am I dead?”

“No, Leighton,” I say, placing a kiss to her forehead. “You'll be fine. I came for you.”

Her eyes fill with tears, making my heart hurt. “I didn't mean to—” she sobs. “—I killed you. I fucking killed you.”

“Leighton, I'm here. The bullet barely grazed me.” I repeat Amber's lie. It wouldn't hurt like a bitch if it just grazed me. Then again, I've never been shot before, so maybe it can be much worse than this.

She just cries harder. Whatever they gave her isn't anywhere near wearing off. I wipe away her tears, kissing her salty lips. It hurts like hell to leave her when she's like this, but I need to take care of Stevie first.

I peek from the room, and see Stevie is trying to crawl away, sliding across the floor toward the other storage room. I walk after him. He turns on his back and shoots, barely missing. I raise my gun and shoot his arm. His gun clatters to the floor, echoing in the hallway. He scrambles for it, so I shoot again, this time aiming at his stomach. He falls down to the floor, unmoving, as a red patch soaks his shirt.

I walk up to him, my gun still at aim, and kick his gun with my foot out of his reach, although there's no point. Blood gurgles audibly up his throat and out of his mouth, sliding down his cheek and dripping onto the floor. He's trying to say something, still conscious. I like it like that. I aim the gun at his groin, smiling, and shoot again. And again. And again, until there are no more bullets left.

I stand there for at least ten minutes, watching him die. It's a glorious feeling. I was fooling myself, thinking I'm above this. I wanted this revenge so bad. Amber was right; this is exactly who I am.

I walk back to the room where I left Leighton, only to find her still crying, mumbling to herself. “I just want to die,” I hear her say.

“Come on,” I say, lifting her up and supporting her on my good shoulder. The other one is starting to throb already.

She puts her arms around my waist, squeezing, still mumbling. We're slowly making our way up the stairs, when we hear another gunshot.

“Fuck,” I say, at the same time as Leighton squeals. I take out the spare gun from my waistband, and continue climbing up the stairs, hoping Leighton doesn't make another sound. We're so fucking close to being out of this place, and I am not letting anything stop me now.

I sit her down at the top of the stairs, then lift the hatch and look out. The lights are on this time, and I recognize the person sitting against the wall as Dom, clutching a gun in his hand. I'd say I'm relieved he's alive, but that would be a lie. I've only seen him a handful of times, and I couldn't care less.

But I decide to be a good Samaritan, and lift the hatch all the way up, looking around to see if there's anyone else out there. “Don't shoot,” I shout. “It's Devon Andre, Leighton's with me.”

His eyes widen when he finds me on the other side of the office as I step out, and then lift Leighton up, as well.

“She's okay?” he asks, a tremble in his voice.

“Yeah, I think she's drugged. I have no idea what they gave her.”

He stands up, and I realize he's been shot in the leg. He sees me eyeing it. “He ran.” He points somewhere outside. “I got him, too. They held me separate.”

I consider going after whoever is out there, but decide against it. We better get out of here fast.

“We need to get away from this place. I have a car waiting,” I say, motioning for him to follow me as I lift up Leighton over my good shoulder. Now that the rush is wearing off, I can definitely feel my bad shoulder throbbing. Whatever drug I was given is wearing off. But if there are more of them out there, we need to get out of here fast. When Dom doesn't follow me, I turn around. “Can you walk?”

He nods, and then slowly gets up. I can see it hurts him to walk as he catches up to me, but he bravely soldiers on, and I lead the way outside to the car, my gun at my side, though it's no use in my hurt arm. I unlock the car and put Leighton in the back, placing a kiss on her temple when she moans. I take off my jacket and cover her with it. Dom gets in on the passenger side, slumping in the car seat and leaning his head back. The grimace on his face is just about how I feel right now.

I get in too, starting the car and getting the hell away from that place.

“God, this hurts like a bitch.” He leans down to inspect the wound on his thigh.

“Yeah. How did you get away?” I ask him after a while, turning on the radio at low volume.

“We heard a gunshot, and he didn't want to leave me to go see what it was all about, so he took me with him. We fumbled for the gun, and it fired before I took it from him. And then I shot him too, but he ran away.”

“Good,” I say. “You did good.”

“Yeah,” he answers.


LEIGHTON

I hear voices through the fog in my head, thinking there's no way I'm hearing it right. It's Dom's voice, but it's Devon's I know for sure I'm hallucinating.

He's dead. And I killed him.

“We thought you were dead,” I hear Dom say to Devon.

“Yeah, safer that way,” Devon says.

Even my imagination wouldn't make these two have a friendly conversation, no way, no how. Not after what I found out.

“You think she'll be out much longer?” Dom asks.

A familiar, heavy sigh from Devon. “No,” he replies shortly.

I try to move, but it's no use. My head, my arms, everything feels heavy and hurts. I try again, the sticky leather squeaking under me. Dom turns around sharply. I close my eyes quickly, hoping he didn't see.

I risk opening my eyes again after a couple of minutes. He's looking straight ahead.

That's when I register that I just heard Devon's voice. I can barely contain myself from jumping up and throwing my arms around him, even if I know I can’t move. He's alive. The bastards fucking lied to me. And he came here for me, after what I did.

I make an effort to move my arm, careful not to squeak against the leather seats again. Something heavy rests on my hip, and when I bring my hand to touch it, I could squeal from happiness. It's a gun.

I guess it serves him right, after he left me to those bastards to do whatever they wanted with me. I'm about to grab for it, when a hand flies at me, squeezing my wrist. I look up, and Dom looks at me meaningfully, his eyes darting toward Devon.

A warning.

“What are you doing?” Devon asks, glancing back.

It happens in slow motion. One minute he's looking at me, the next Dom grabs for the gun and points it at him. I can see the moment Devon decides to just go for it. He wrestles with Dom for the gun, swerves off the road, and makes my head hit the door. As the car flips over and hits the ground front-first, the airbags pop out from the dashboard, fat and white and violent, hitting them both, hard, and then there's a gunshot. I hold my breath, waiting to see what happens next.

Neither moves.

I reach out with my arm, which still feels heavy. “Devon,” I whisper, shaking him, trying to see if he's breathing.

Dom grabs my wrist, twisting my arm. There’s another gunshot from under his neck, his head blown to pieces right in front of me, spraying blood all over the car.

Devon lifts up his head, looking me over. For a minute we don't say anything, just looking at each other, the only sounds in the car radio static and our heavy breathing.

“Are you okay?” he asks me, bringing his hand to my face and wiping the wetness from it with his light touch. I wince in pain when he touches my cheek.

I can't help it; I start crying. I'm not sure if they're happy tears, or sad tears, or what they are, but I can't keep it in anymore. Everywhere I look there's blood, and Devon looks pale and tired, and like he's about to drop dead, and I feel like there's a truck flat on my chest—I place my hand over his, stopping the wiping motion he makes, and pressing it into my cheek. I close my eyes, but the sobs don't stop.

He's really here.

His hand disappears and I hear the car door open, the seat dipping next to me, and then he cups my face and leans his forehead against mine. “It's okay,” he says, kissing my lips softly, grazing his thumb down my jaw. “We're okay.”