As soon as I'm upright, I see Gilleon on the floor with blood oozing from his thigh, his face tight with pain, teeth gritted as his blue eyes lock on mine. Gill's been shot?!
Panic washes through me and in an instant, everything else fades away, and I see him as he looked the day he picked the lock on my bedroom door, a lost boy who needed help. I didn't know it then, but Gill was hurting and he was looking for something, someone, to get him through it. That person, however unknowingly, was me.
And I'd do it again, a thousand times over. Like I said, I'd die for him.
I meant that.
“I don't make deals with men who break their word, Gilleon. You know that.” I'm staring at Karl's side, his face in profile, his gun in his hand. Behind me, someone shifts. There are people everywhere here, aren't there? Of course there are. Otherwise Gill would've shot Karl in the head the moment we walked in the door.
I suck in another shuddering breath, the gun under my dress burning my flesh, like the metal's molten and searing my skin. I know it's all in my head, but I can't shake the urge to reach down and brush it away. But no. No. Maxine left the revolver there for a reason.
“Karl, listen to me,” Gill begins, his voice stretched and tense with pain. I feel the beginnings of panic creeping up in my chest, but I blink them away. Things could be worse: Gill could be dead. He will be if I don't do something about it. I want to believe that he's still got a plan—and that this is all part of it—but I can't count on it.
“Maxine,” Karl begins, turning to look at his ex. She's sitting there with her legs crossed, her designer shoe bumping rhythmically as she slathers another piece of bread with goat cheese, like Gill's blood isn't splattered across her floor, like the smell of gunpowder isn't burning our nostrils. “I'll take Gilleon—and the girl.” He gestures loosely at me, like I'm nothing more than an object to be bartered. “And you can keep Aveline.” His lips curl. “And the diamonds. Consider them a belated alimony payment.”
The sound of a car pulling up outside gives everyone pause.
“Who the hell is that?” Maxine snaps, sending Kayla scurrying towards the door. A few seconds later, it's swinging wide and Aveline is standing in the doorway, breathing hard, dressed in a fresh set of clothes. Her eyes are practically swollen shut and she's leaning on Ewan for support, but she's here.
I struggle to sit up, the organza of my gown crinkling and drawing Karl's eyes back to me. He disregards me as useless and turns his attention back to his daughter.
“What are doing here?” Maxine asks, sounding genuinely perplexed. I bet it's hard to pull one off on this woman. Behind Aveline, there are two men I've never seen before. Without batting an eye, she turns and puts a bullet in one of their heads.
Gill shoves up from the floor, using the moment of surprise to pull away from the man holding onto his shoulders, swinging around and hitting him so hard in the face that I hear a distinct cracking sound before he turns his attention back to Karl.
I don't have time to think or debate or wonder how my morality might suffer. Gill is mine, and he's in trouble, so I'll do what I have to do. I lean over, grunting at the pain and flopping forward like a rag doll, my body screaming in protest at the motion. I dig my fingers under my skirt, shoving the fabric up my thighs with no attention to modesty, exposing my black lace panties and the gleaming silver of the revolver.
Behind me, Karl's man shifts, a gun in his hand, the muzzle pointed not at me but at Gilleon. I see him get a shot off before I manage to raise my own up and point it at his chest. He might have body armor, my thoughts scream, so I adjust my grip just in time for him to notice me. We both shift our aim and fire. His bullet hits me in the shoulder, knocking me back from the chair again, sending my body towards the floor with a spray of blood. As I tumble back, I hear another sound, like an overfilled grocery sack slamming into the pavement. I got him. Maybe. Hopefully.
I feel like my arm's on fire for a second, but just a second, and then the pain fades away. Still, psychologically speaking, I feel fucked up. Just the idea that I've been shot scares the hell out of me and a scream rips from my throat as soon as I make contact with the ground. The initial impact of the shot is the worst part though, wrenching my shoulder back before the cement pushes it forward again.
Even with all of this happening, with the pain, the shots, the blood, there's only one thing on my mind.
Gilleon.
Gilleon.
Gilleon.
Please be okay, Gill.
My vision swirls as I listen to the sounds of gunfire, struggling to sit up, my left arm moving more slowly than I want it to.
I look around for my revolver for a while before I realize I still have it clutched in my right hand.