Say.
To.
Her?!
“How do you know it’s him?” she asks.
Her back is still turned to me as my heart begins to pound against my eardrums. I clear my throat. Maybe she didn’t catch it. Maybe she didn’t hear me say that her assailant is living in the same building—that I know what he looks like whenshedoesn’t even remember.
Speak.
She asked you a question.
“I…”
Say something.
Anything.
But I can’t think.
Lie, and she’ll know. Tell the truth…
Oh my god,what did I just do?!
I’m so fucking stupid.
This is the worst way his could have come out, the worst way to tell her—
“Gemma?”
“Yeah,” I breathe, hands on my hips.
I’m staring at her wide-eyed, fingers digging into my waist, waiting for her to turn around. Waiting for her to face me with the truth on her face.
“I asked how you know it’s him,” she repeats, and there’s an edge to her voice this time.
Fuck…
“I just…”
“How?” she repeats.
“Bon—Bonnie. Shit—”
Her name is a worthless plea as my hands fly up defensively by my head. I take a step back, my heart dropping into my feet when she turns.
Motherfucker.
Bonnie’s facing me.
And she’s pointing her Glock at my face.
Rage and pain spread over her features. Her hands are quaking, her jaw visibly chattering, emotion dragging the corners of her lips down and down. She’s barely breathing as her cheeks grow redder, her eyes glassing over.
“How… do you know… it washim?”
The last word is laced with betrayal, and the way she’s looking at me…
