And he’ll never know who did this to me.
Hunter points the gun at me. “This is for my son.”
This time, I don’t close my eyes. I’ll look my killer in the eye, and I’ll make him remember my face and what he did.
I hope I haunt him.
I hope I haunt him until the day he?—
A flash of silver.
A spit of blood.
Then, rivets of red gush down Hunter’s front.
His throat is sliced open, and his eyes widen as his hands fly to his wound. I watch, unable to move, as Hunter falls back and finally collapses.
Monty is behind him, knife in hand, her other hand pressed to her bleeding belly. She’s coated in blood and panting, her face frighteningly pale.
“Always … go for the throat … youfucker.” She spits on Hunter, then drags herself closer before falling beside me. Her breathing is short. Her green eyes half closed. She winces as she moves onto her side and takes my hand. “They’re coming, Bambi.”
It’s quiet.
Snow falls but doesn’t seem to touch my face.
Twists of pretty flakes float closer but vanish before they can cool my skin. The dark sky is heavy with gray, but I think I look beyond it.
Monty squeezes my fingers. “Don’t … don’t sleep.”
But I’m so tired, and I think I hear music.
Singing.
And a steady thrum.
My heartbeat in my ears.
I never noticed it before, not really. The muscle in my chest that gives me life.
Slowing.
Monty’s hand relaxes.
Slips from mine.
I think I say her name. Her eyes are closed. Her lips parted.
Tears burn my eyes, and I want to shake her awake. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to die like this. I don’t want her to die, either.
The music starts again.
A glow, too.
A phone in Monty’s pocket.
Pain stabs into my stomach as I reach for it.
Gable’s name flashes on the screen.
