34 - How I escaped
Marley Bulldog shot me that day. He casually walked out of the clubhouse doors, cocke.d his gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger. I don’t remember the feeling of that bullet hitting me in my side. I don’t remember falling to the ground, but I do remember waking up in Bulldog’s room. He was staring down at me, his eyes fixed on my face. I couldn’t move. I seemed to be paralyzed. I stared at Bulldog, wondering why the hell I was still alive. What kind of cruel joke was it that I would survive a bullet only to be further tortured? Bulldog told me that I was a silly girl, that he’d shot me as punishment for running from him, but there was no way he’d let me leave even in death. I belonged to him, and he’d never let me go. That was why he shot to maim and not to kill. No matter what Bulldo
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