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Cinna rushed around, trying to get to her gun.
But then there was a slam, followed by a cry, as we both turned to see the man ramming Islah back against the wall.
Once, twice.
The third, time made her eyes go out of focus, and suddenly, she was going lax, falling down hard on her ass, gaze dazed as he turned on her, raising his gun.
Thoughts of her gun abandoned, Cinna rushed the shooter, grabbing his wrist with both of hers, the gun waving around wildly as they both fought for control.
Islah was still slumped against the wall, a faraway look in her eyes. And, I noticed with rising horror, there was a spot of blood on the wall where she’d slammed into it over and over, then drag marks down toward where she was sitting.
Oh, God.
Elian was going to lose his mind if something happened to his baby sister. While I just stood there. Not fighting the attacker. Not assisting Islah. Just doing… nothing.
There was a crashing noise, making my gaze reluctantly slide away from Islah, finding Cinna splayed out on the coffee table, the center of it concaved under the impact, making her struggle to get back out.
As the man drew closer.
As he raised his gun.
He was going to shoot Cinna.
Then Islah.
All because of me.
Suddenly, whatever had been keeping my feet glued to the ground let up, and I flew across the floor, reaching for Cinna’s gun.
“No!” I screamed, making the man stiffen.
Then turn.
As my finger slid to the trigger.
Aimed.
Pulled.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Four.
His body jerked twice.
Five.
Six.
And I watched as blood bloomed out from a hole suddenly lodged in the man’s cheek.
It seemed to take him a moment to realize he was shot, his body wobbling, his brows knitting.
Cinna took the opportunity as he fell in slow motion to his knees to climb out of the wrecked coffee table, then rush toward me.