LEILA
.
.
It was Gerald.
He had come around from the other way, more like it was fearful, leaving the relative cover of the front of the car, moving into the storm of bullets and chaos, his face set in a grim, determined mask, focused solely on getting to me.
It feels like I was the bait here.
He was trying to drag me out of the car, pulling my injured body towards the open doorway, towards the gunfire raging just outside.
My ankle screamed in protest in an agonizing way, a sudden, intense fire shooting up my leg, but it was nothing compared to the sheer terror that gripped me. I didn’t want to go out there.
Not into that.
Not into the middle of a gunfight.
Not with him and not after what I’ve seen him do.
“No!” I screamed, the sound high and desperate, kicking, struggli
