She stiffens, staring at the shower curtain.
“Back downstairs,” I whisper.
When we turn, we see Pauly Mangia approaching fast from down the hall.
Rachel grabs my arm and yanks me into the bathroom. We throw our weight against the door to get it closed and locked. She flips her purse upside down over the sink as the door cracks inward, knocking us down and sending things flying onto the floor. He lunges in on top of us.
My eyes scan the floor for a weapon and see a small gun. Next to me, she’s lying on the floor and he leans over her, choking her. Twisting, I lunge for the gun and get it. I point it and pull the trigger but nothing happens. My mind remembers the safety thing.
Rachel’s face is purple.
I can’t get it to work quickly enough, so I rise and hit him in the head with the gun, slamming him with my body. We fall, and he pins me down. He’s on my back, and I’m pushing my hand against Rachel. I can’t see and I can’t breathe. Then there’s a cracking noise, and Mangia’s weight collapses on me. Blood drips next to my head. I look over my shoulder, my ears ringing and see his bloody head.
“Close your eyes,” Rachel says, her small hand reaching out to block my view.
“I—”
Her voice is soft and soothing. “It’s okay. Close them.”
I turn my head toward the tile floor, seeing an expanding circle of crimson, and then close my eyes.
“Christ,” C says in a low voice. “Who’s hit?”
Then the weight on my back is gone.
“Just him,” Rachel says softly. “You’re doing good, Laurel. Keep your eyes closed.”
“Here, Rachel,” C says, and her body moves away.
Then I’m being lifted.
“You hurt?” C asks softly as he sets me down in the hall.
Opening my eyes, I find I’m sitting on the carpet just outside the bathroom. “No. Not hurt. He tried.” My eyes search the area until I find Rachel a couple of feet away. She’s standing in the hall, leaning against the wall.
Her eyes are bright, but she blinks the tears away.
C walks over and kisses the top of her head. Then he holds out his hand for the gun.
She closes her hands around it, clasping it tightly for a moment. “Sasha gave it to me. It was—in the box with a diamond pendant. Six-month anniversary present.” She smiles ruefully and hands it to C. “I only let him give me four shooting lessons because I was too busy.” She glances over at me. “The first thing he taught me was how to engage and disengage the safety.”
“Lucky he did,” I murmur.
“How did you know?” she asks, looking around.
“Don’t you smell his cheap cologne? It reeks.”
After a beat she laughs, and then nods. “‘Cause you’re pregnant.”
C looks at me, his eyes appraising me. “No pain anywhere?”
My hand goes to my stomach and I shake my head. “Doesn’t seem to be.”
C exhales, looking grim.
“It’s good we followed the rules,” I say absently, noticing blood on my forearm. I try to wipe it off, but it doesn’t all wipe away.
C grips me under the arms and pulls me up.
