Several hours later at dawn, Bruce"s security escorts me inside my apartment, examines every room, and questions the disarray on my bedroom floor. I turn away from the fit of anger raged earlier, shrug and assure him, “It"s nothing.” Following him into the living room, I gasp when he pulls a gun from his jacket and points it toward my sofa. In the dim room, Michelle lays asleep on her side, undisturbed by our presence. “It"s okay, she"s a friend,” I whisper, pushing his raised arm down. I frown, noticing Kayla"s letter and the picture of Michelle"s parent"s in her hand. The truth about her corrupt father must have been horrifying. When I didn"t return her call, she probably grew concerned and came searching for me, using the emergency set of keys I"d given her and Hannah. I imagined she"s
