35
BROOKLYN
Gabe was on his knees, holding his hand over the wound I’d just inflicted. It was a fatal blow and as I stood there with the g*n in my hand, I realized I was watching him die.
A red soaked hand came down on mine and lowered my hand, gently prying the g*n away. Tears blurred my vision and I felt numb as Camden turned me to face him. He was pale and wobbly on his feet. “Brooklyn, it’s okay.”
Seeing the way he looked, it didn’t take me long to realize what had happened; he had been shot too. “Oh my God, Camden, you’re really hurt.” He pulled me over to the couch and leaned against it, his face scrunched in agony. Rushing to the kitchen, I grabbed a clean dishtowel and hurried back. He hissed when I pressed it down on his shoulder.
“It’s not that bad, buttercup. Now I know how
