Then the shooting stopped.
Not slowly either. One second, the alley was exploding with gunfire, and the next, everything went dead quiet except for the truck hissing around us.
My body shook uncontrollably beneath Booda’s weight.
“Booda,” I cried pathetically, trying to see if he was alive.
But I was too weak. Everything hurt in a way that didn’t feel real anymore, like my body had become something separate from me.
Blood poured down my face, soaked through my clothes, and spread beneath us both.
Outside, footsteps moved closer through broken glass.
Somebody laughed. A female. The sound hit me so hard my blood ran cold.
No.
Footsteps moved closer through the broken glass scattered around the truck.
Another voice said, “Check the bodies.”
My breathing turned ragged instantly.
“Please get up,” I whispered, pushing against Booda a little harder now. “Please, Booda.”
He still didn’t answer.
Then I heard heels.
Getting closer.
My entire body locked up.
The passenger-side door creaked open, and cold air rushed into the truck.
Someone poked Booda’s shoulder. “Damn,” the woman laughed. “Y’all really fucked him up.”
I knew that voice.
My stomach dropped.
No.
No. No. No.
“Pull him out,” one of the men said.
Hands grabbed Booda’s body and dragged him off me before dropping him onto the pavement outside.
The second his weight left me, pain ripped through me so badly I almost blacked out.
I tried to move but couldn’t. The dashboard swam. Steadied. Swam again. Something warm pooled beneath me and kept spreading.
Then Giani stepped into view, and my chest caved in.
She crouched beside the open passenger door, wearing all black with a gun hanging loosely from her hand, while she looked down at me as if she didn’t even know me anymore.
She looked calm, but her eyes were cold, like none of this bothered her at all. And somehow that hurt worse than the bullets.
