Zayn’s POV
How much more of this can I take? This is messed up — no, it’s beyond that. Watching them take more lives is starting to chew through my sanity, piece by piece.
“Here, have this.”
One of the men shoved a gun toward me.
I shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Banjo and I already talked about this. I’m not touching that thing,” I said, my voice edged with anger.
His jaw tightened. “I hate that attitude of yours. I don’t care if the boss favors you— I’m still older, so you better lower your tone when you speak to me,” he snapped.
I scoffed, the sound loud and deliberate. His nostrils flared, and the scowl that twisted his face almost made me grin. Like I gave a damn.
“Sir, it’s done. We can leave now,” one of the men panted, sweat dripping down his temple. Disgust kno
