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“I will make a great auntie,” Islah decided.
“Since you won’t be having real children because only fictional men are any good,” Cinna concluded.
“Exactly.”
“You do realize that I always swore I’d never settle down or have children, right?” Cinna asked. “I think I’m gonna be laughing about this conversation in a few years,” she said as there was a knock at the door.
“I got it,” Islah said, grabbing her purse and rushing toward the door.
“Islah, wait,” Cinna called, rushing up behind her.
It all happened in slow motion.
Islah’s hand reached for the knob, half turning back to look at Cinna as she rushed across the floor.
But it was too late.
The door was already in motion, pushing inward, making Islah’s head whip over, brows pinched as she felt it push inward.
Then the whole thing seemed to speed up, fast forward.
Cinna yelled, but I couldn’t seem to make out what she was saying over the thumping of my pulse in my ears as I watched a man storm into the condo.
The force of the door sent Islah flying, crashing back into the wall, her pretty face twisting up in pain as her head snapped back.
No.
This couldn’t be happening.
Not here.
Where it was supposed to be safe.
The man ignored Islah, charging instead at Cinna, his hand pulling out of his jacket, coming back with a gun that had my stomach twisting, mind flashing back to the night before, to another man, another gun, the muted sounds, the blood, the fear, the uncertainty.
Cinna’s arm started to raise, her own gun at the ready.
But I watched in horror as the other shooter was faster, taking aim and shooting.
I wouldn’t have thought anything happened if I didn’t see Cinna’s whole body jerk to one side as, it seemed, a bullet sliced into her flesh.
The man wasn’t satisfied with that, though.
He kept moving toward her, grabbing her arm with the gun, yanking it up to aim toward the ceiling, his grip hard enough to make Cinna’s face twist in pain.
He shook her hand, once, twice.
Until, on the third savage twist, the gun slipped from her hand and went flying.
I watched, frozen on the spot, my legs stuck, my very heartbeat seemingly seized in my chest, as he lifted his other hand, and started to press the gun toward Cinna’s head.
Suddenly, Islah was up off the floor, taking a running start and leaping onto the man’s back, the shock of her body suddenly clinging to him, making his hand fall just enough, and allow Cinna to move away, out of the line of fire.
Cinna moved into the cage of his body, fingers digging into his eyes.
A deep, guttural yell escaped the man as he whipped himself around to get away from the pressure.
Islah clung to him, her legs wrapped hard around his waist, her arms going up to close around his throat. She squeezed hard enough to make her arms shake, and make red rise in the man’s face and cheeks.