Blood spatters cover my shirt.
I gasp like a fish.
As my eyes close, I hear Grandad choke out my name.
There’s nothing like a gunshot to make you the life of the party.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
IT HURTS. I EXPECTED THAT, but it still knocks the breath out of me. Wetness seeps through my shirt, making it stick to my skin.
I try to still my breathing as much as possible. My body’s shifting has slowed; the blowback’s wearing off. I want to keep my eyes open, but I need Anton to really believe I was shot, so I listen instead of looking.
“Both of you, against the sinks,” Cloe says. “Put your hands where I can see them.”
People are moving around me. I hear a grunt from my grandfather’s direction, but I can’t afford to look.
“How can you be here?” Anton asks her.
“Oh, come now,” Cloe says, low
