“Okay,” I whisper, lowering my gun.“Okay.Just don’t hurt her.”
Roach grins, teeth yellow under the flickering kitchen light.
“That’s right, you’re gonna be a real good old lady, ain’t ya?”
Before I can react, his hand shoots out—he grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me forward, hard enough to make me stumble.
“Let her go!”Angie cries, going for her pistol again.
One of the bikers lunges forward and slams his arm into her wrist.
The gun clatters to the floor.Angie gasps, clutching her arm.
“ANGIE!”I scream.
Then the biker hits her.
A heavy, brutal strike across the face.
She crumples like a marionette with its strings cut, collapsing against the floor tiles.
Time slows.
Her apron shifts as she falls.Her hand twitches once, reaching—then stills.
I can’t breathe.Can’t think.All I can do is scream.
“ANGIE!”
Roach yanks my hair again, dragging me toward the door, my feet slipping against the tile, my throat raw.
“Let’s go, bitch,” he snarls.“We got a date with destiny.”
And as the porch door slams shut behind us, the last thing I hear is the sound of my own heart breaking.
Chapter 32-Angie
My face is wet.
At first, I think it’s blood, but when I touch my cheek, it’s just tears.
The kitchen’s a mess—broken glass, chairs knocked over, flour spilled across the floor like snow.
Gunshots made holes in the walls.
The air reeks of smoke and motor oil and something sour that makes my stomach turn.
“Bit?”I whisper, but my voice cracks.
She’s gone.
I saw that bastard drag her out by the hair—heard her screaming my name—and I couldn’t stop him.
My arm feels like it’s on fire where he hit me.
My knees are jelly, but I push myself up off the floor anyway, gripping the counter until the world stops tilting.
The pistol’s still there, halfway under the table.
