“What the f—”
His question is cut off by a ping. And then another. Like someone is throwing little rocks at my front window.
Until it explodes.
“Get down!” Bennett throws himself on top of me, and together we fall to the ground like a heavy sack of potatoes. My elbow smacks the hard tile, jarring the bone but stopping my head before it strikes the floor.
From our position behind the counter, I can’t see any of the action, but the sounds of glass raining on the floor and then a continued series of pops rings in my ears. Bennett positions his arm around my head in slow motion. The entire room freezes until I swear I’m able to make out each individual piece of glass making contact with the hard floor and bouncing off in the distance.
And then just as quickly it all stops. The bakery is an eerie quiet except for the sound of my heart thumping against my ribcage.
“Are you okay?” Bennett slides off me, reaching behind him and pulling out a black gun. It’s smaller than I expect a gun to be…and plastic. Nothing like the weapons you see on TV. “Stay down.” He pushes my shoulder to reinforce his point.
Time speeds up. Like someone hit fast-forward on the movie of our life. Bennett is gone before I argue. He jumps over the flat part of my counter and I lose sight of his body.
“Fuck,” he yells. “Anessa, get me some towels!”
His current command conflicts with the whole “stay put” he told me a few seconds before.
Confused and not wanting to end up broken like my window I crawl to the back on my hands and knees, not standing until I’m completely in the kitchen. There’s a small hole in the right side of one swinging door that wasn’t there earlier. Everything is exactly as I left it, but I can’t remember where I keep my towels.
Where do I keep my towels? My mind races and I can’t get a single thought to take hold. The large glass window of my bakery lies in shards of glass on the floor. And the longer the last few minutes have time to sit in my head, the more I’m sure they didn’t use rocks to break it.
I’m pretty sure those were bullets.
Someone shot out my bakery window.
Someone put a hole in my kitchen door.
Someone shot at me.
Bennett grabs on to my shoulders shaking me a fraction in his haste. “Anessa, I get you’re scared, but I need you to find some towels. Mad Dog was hit.”
Mad Dog was hit? With what?
I stare in his eyes, not seeing, as Bennett continues to shake me. Until I look down and see his hands aren’t touching my body. I’m doing the shaking on my own.
“Anessa, towels?” he asks again, his face the only thing visible.
My mind snaps into focus. Right, towels. “In the cupboard next to the sink.” I push past Bennett on unsteady feet.
I grab one towel off the top and turn back.
“We’ll need more.” Bennett takes an armful, clearing the shelf.
I follow him out of the kitchen, but my feet stop and refuse to go past the counter on the other side. Not after what I see. Now I understand why Bennett said we needed them all.
“What happened?” Pearl asks as she kneels over Mad Dog’s body on the floor.
Bennett slides to his knees next to the shot biker. “Pearl, call 911.” He doesn’t answer her question or wait to see if she goes for the phone but instead rips open the white T-shirt covering Mad Dog’s body.
His eyes are closed, but blood pours from his chest where two small holes pucker the skin.
Oh my god.
The knee of my jeans soaks up blood as I take a position on the other side of the fallen body.
“Hold this.” Bennett pushes my useless hands over the pile of towels he’s placed on Mad Dog’s chest. “Where’s the plastic wrap?”
