The gun.
His jaw turns to granite.
“Amy,” he says, but it comes out more like a question, like he can’t believe what he just walked into.
His eyes dart to me again, scanning me from head to toe for injury. Satisfied that I’m still in one piece, they swing back to the woman—Amy—with a look that could kill.
“Put the gun down, Amy.”
Amy’s bloodshot eyes fill with fresh tears, but the gun doesn’t move. If anything, her grip tightens. “You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”
Journey raises both hands slowly, palms out, mirroring what I’d done moments ago. “Nobody’s telling you anything. I’m asking.” His voice is controlled, even, but I can see the vein pulsing in the side of his neck. “Just put it down, and we’ll talk.”
“Talk?” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. It’s a brittle and broken sound that makes the hair on my arms stand up. “You want to talk now? You wouldn’t even look at me before! You fucked me in a bathroom and said thanks!” Her voice cracks on the last word, and a sob rips from her chest.
Oh God.
Journey takes a slow step forward, positioning himself between me and the barrel of the gun. His back is to me now, broad and solid, blocking my view of Amy’s face. “June,” he says, his voice low and calm, not taking his eyes off Amy. “Move to the corner.”
I don’t argue. My legs are shaking so badly I can barely get them to cooperate, but I manage to shuffle sideways until my back hits the wall in the far corner of the apartment. I press myself into it, making myself as small as possible.
“There you go,” Journey says to Amy, his hands still raised. “See? It’s just you and me now.” He takes another slow step toward her. “She doesn’t mean anything to me.”
The words are like a punch to my gut. I know—I know—he’s lying. I know he’s saying it to get that gun out of her hand, but hearing him say those words out loud, so easily, so convincingly? I can’t help but question if there’s some truth to it.
“She’s nobody,” Journey continues, his voice dropping into that rough, persuasive register that I imagine has talked more than a few women into his bed. “You’re the one I want, Amy. You know that. I was an asshole, I know I was. Put the gun down, and we’ll go somewhere. Just the two of us. We’ll figure this out.”
Amy’s chin wobbles. The gun wavers slightly, dipping an inch. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.” He takes another step, giving me a clear view of the crazed look in her eyes. “Come on, baby. You and me. That’s all I want.”
For a split second, I think it’s working. Her arm starts to lower, the tension in her shoulders releasing like air from a balloon. Then her eyes snap to me over Journey’s shoulder. Whatever she sees in my face sends her right back over the edge.
“LIAR!” she screams, and the gun swings past Journey, the barrel aimed directly at my head.
Time comes to a crashing halt. In slow motion, I see her finger tighten on the trigger, and at the same time, I hear the explosion.
I don’t feel the bullet, but the wall beside my head erupts in a shower of drywall and plaster. Chunks of white debris pepper my face and hair as the sound deafens me, ringing through my skull like a bell struck by a hammer.
Like a switch being flipped, my survival instincts kick in and I drop like a sack of potatoes, curling into a ball with my armswrapped over my head. My cheek stings where something sharp sliced across the skin, and I can feel warm wetness trickling down toward my jaw.
Through the ringing in my ears, I hear a crash. A scream. The sickening sound of a body hitting the floor.
I peek through the cage of my arms and see Journey on top of Amy, his massive body pinning her to the ground. Her arm is stretched out to the side, the gun still in her grip, and Journey’s hand clamps around her wrist so hard her fingers splay open. The gun skids across the floor, spinning to a stop against the baseboard.
Amy is screaming, thrashing, clawing at him with her free hand, but Journey doesn’t budge. His face is a mask of fury as he draws back his fist and lets it fly, connecting with her jaw. Her head snaps to the side, and her body goes limp.
Journey is breathing hard, his shoulders rising and falling as he stares down at Amy’s unconscious body. After a long beat, he pushes himself up off the floor and kicks the gun further away before turning to me.
“June.” His voice is wrecked. “Baby, look at me.”
I can’t move. I’m frozen with my arms still locked around my head, my body shakes and my teeth chatter uncontrollably.
Someone just took a shot at me. No, not someone, one of Journey’s women. That crazed lunatic wanted to kill me.
“June!” Hands cup my face, thumbs brushing the debris from my cheeks. The sting on my left cheek flares under his touch, and I flinch. “Fuck. You’re bleeding.”
I blink, trying to bring him into focus. His stormy gray eyes are wild, panicked, searching mine for something.
