“You did more than break his nose, you asshole,” I said. “He’s out cold.”

Dillon frowned.

“How do you think you’re going to get your money now, huh?” I sneered, more pissed off in my life than I could ever remember being. Hadn’t we been through enough already? No. This wasn’t happening. I would not do this again.

For a moment, the meth-head just looked confused, blinking over and over again. “Well, we wait for him to wake up.”

“No,” I said simply. “God, you’re so fucking stupid. You didn’t think this through at all, did you?”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

The gun got shoved in my face, barrel staring me down between the eyes. And there I stayed, on my knees, the perfect target. Didn’t matter. One mistake, I just needed him to make one mistake so I could bring the asshole down. If I could get the jump on him . . .

“Smart people put their money in banks, Dillon. What did you think?” I asked. “That he’d have it stashed in his mattress or something?”

“It’s drug money. No, there’s no way it isn’t here somewhere.”

“It’s in the bank,” I singsonged.

“You’re lying!”

I was lying. It was easy. Just like John with Chris, trying to get through this alive. If Dillon thought the money wasn’t here, he’d just have to go. “We did different deposits at different places. I helped him set it up, to make sure it was safe.”

Dillon snarled. “Shut up.”

“Fact is, he didn’t trust you. I mean, come on, you’ve been practically stalking him, for fuck’s sake.” My smile was all teeth. “Hello.”

“No!”

“Run, Dillon. Leave. Now. There’s nothing for you here.”

Just like he had with his brother, he grabbed a handful of my wet hair. The gun pressed hard into my forehead. Bet he thought he’d make me cry or piss myself or beg for my life. Not happening.

“It’s just past ten,” I said, cool as can be. “We’ve got friends from the field party coming over soon. Anders and Hang and some of the other guys from the basketball team.”

Nervous, his gaze darted to the door.

“Yeah, a whole bunch of them are coming over to smoke some weed and drink a few beers.”

“You’re lying,” he repeated. Though not sounding quite so sure of himself now.

“Why do you think we were upstairs having a quickie? It’s Saturday night. Party time, duh. We’ve got things to do.”

The gun shook in his hands, his thin lips drawn wide. “No. No one’s coming. Uncle Levi—”

“Can’t stand you,” I finished for him. “But John he just loves. Drives you nuts, doesn’t it?”

“You talk too fucking much.” He yanked at my hair, tearing some loose. Tears of pain filled my eyes, but I didn’t make a noise. I was done playing victim. And still his hand kept jittering, finger caressing the trigger. “Johnny’ll wake up soon. Until then, keep your trap shut.”

“If you haven’t caused him any permanent brain damage. There could be swelling, internal bleeding.” I stopped, saying a quick prayer that this really was all lies. “Is that what you wanted for your brother?”

“I didn’t hit him that hard.”

“Yes you did.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to!”

“Oh, I think you did,” I said. “He needs an ambulance, Dillon. Medical attention.”

Gaze torn, agonized, he stared at John still lying so frighteningly quiet on the floor. That’s when I made my move, smacking the gun, trying to knock it out of his hand. I grabbed at his wrist, putting my whole body weight behind it, knocking him off balance. He was taller than me but sickly and rake thin. At least I had weight on him. A startled sort of sound left his throat. We wrestled over the weapon, me trying to drag his hand down and pry his fingers open. It went off. The clap of the noise like a shock wave, weapon discharging. Nothing I hadn’t heard before. Pain flashed through me, but adrenaline drowned it out.

His hands were slickened with sweat, but it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t strong enough.

Eventually, Dillon threw me off, kicking me in the stomach for good measure. Blood dampened my side and I sunk to my knees. Shit. So this was what it felt like to get shot. It sucked, big time.

He backhanded me.

Still I smiled up at him. “Gunshot,” I said, a note of triumph in my voice. “Someone’s calling the cops right now.”

Nose wrinkled, his gaze was incredulous. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“And you’re not the first dickhead to pull a gun on me.” I managed a shrug.

Poor Dillon. The frown worsened as he looked between me and John. Down the street, a car honked. Dillon jumped.

“Shit,” he muttered. “You’re that girl. The one who was at the Drop Stop with him, right?”

“Yep.” I grinned, blood dribbling from my lip. “And if you think there’s anything I wouldn’t do to protect your brother, then you’re the one that’s fucking crazy.”

He just looked at me.

The inside of my mouth tasted like blood. Gross, I must have bitten my tongue. I spat onto the ground and made a mental note to apologize to Levi later. If I was still alive. At this rate, who knew? But at least I’d go out fighting. John remained still and silent. My heart felt swollen at the sight. Like it was somehow at two or three times its capacity. Thank God I’d told him I loved him.

If it had to end, at least he knew. To think, Hang and I had joked about it just the other night. Shit.

I didn’t want to die.

The thought hit me out of nowhere. All of the crazy, risky, wild, dangerous, irrational things I’d been doing, like rushing through my firsts. I’d been wrong, desperate. Just waiting for the end. Waiting for the man with the gun.

Now here he was, and I wanted more time. Not just a bunch of quick thrills. But time.

Time with John and time with Mom, too. Time to graduate and move out. Time to travel and grow. I wanted more of everything, but the choice was out of my hands.

I pulled myself to my feet, legs trembling.

The gun barrel was suspended in space, mere inches from my head.

It was shaking. Dillon’s hand was shaking. I looked past the gun, fixing my eyes on him. The arm holding the gun was outstretched, the man’s weight leaning back away from me, as if the gun was his shield. His confidence had fled.