Evan drove with one hand on the wheel as the tears of despair ran down his cheeks. The other hand was clamped tightly on his left side, unsuccessfully trying to stop blood flow.
The bullet had come through the bedroom door and creased his left side. He knew no vital organs had been hit, but a sizeable bloody gash had been opened on the side of his abdomen.
If the bullet had come out the door an inch to the right, it would’ve missed him, and if it had been an inch to the left, he’d be in critical condition or dead.
Knowing this didn’t suppress his fury at his failure. His typical pounding of the steering wheel when enraged wasn’t possible as he fought to keep pressure on the wound as he drove.
Arriving at his home, he opened the car door and tried to ignore the increasing pain as he got
