She didn’t just yell. She didn’t just grab his lapel.
She pulled a gun. She hit him.
By the time I get to the store lot, he’s collapsed on the couch, shaking.
Goddamn it, baby.
He needs me.
But first?
Her.
This will never happen again.
I storm into the store and head straight for the bats.
Tammy’s was light. Worked, but took too much upper body effort.
Oksana’s not Tammy.
She’s not throwing slippers and sobbing about closure.
She’ll be armed. Quick. Dirty. One-shot kind of woman.
Which means I only get one swing.
It needs to count.
I check the feed again.
He’s still there.
On the couch.
Shaking.
Oh, baby. I’ve got you.
I pull out my phone.
Me: Vitaly looks off. Wellness check?
Callum: On it. Burgers and shakes.
Good.
No need to say what I saw.
If Callum knew, he’d want to handle it himself.
The others would say wait.
Neither of those work.
This one’s mine.
There it is.
