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Still, he heard me, but he still looked just as torn in two as he led his sister and Cinna toward and out the door.
Alone, my gaze slid away from the bloodstain Islah had left and toward the body on the floor, unnaturally still.
Dead.
“Don’t look at ‘im,” Serano said, breaking the silence. Then, when it seemed impossible for me to look away, he reached to remove his jacket, then drape it over the head and shoulders of the man. “There,” he declared. “Better.”
It wasn’t.
Not really.
Because I was pretty sure I would be seeing the image of the man with a hole in his cheek. A hole I put there. A hole I was pretty sure would have killed him given a few more minutes. If Cinna hadn’t… expedited the process.
“You’re shaking,” Serano said, very matter-of-fact, but the wideness to his eyes may have been his version of concern.
Or maybe it was pure, undiluted masculine terror at the prospect of having to comfort a hysterical woman.
“I shot him,” I said, staring at the body.
“Good.”
Was it? Good?
I mean, it was good that Cinna was alive and Islah would be okay after some medical care.
But was it good that I’d shot someone? That I probably almost killed him?
There was a knocking at the door, making me jolt hard, and Serano reached under his arm where he had a holster.
“It’s Rico,” a voice called, making Serano drop his hand, then open the door.
Rico was a tall, lithely fit man with short, dark hair, dark eyes, rugged bone structure, and tanned skin.
“Cinna called and… oh,” he said, looking down at the body. “What’s with the jacket?” he asked, making Serano nod toward me. “Oh, right,” Rico said, looking almost as lost as Serano did.
“I shot him,” I said again.
Then, I kid you not, he said, “Good.”
There was another knock, making Rico turn to open it, letting in a small, slight woman with bright blue hair and a pretty face.
Her gaze slid to the body, then right up to me.
“Okay,” she said, walking over to me. “How about you stop staring at the corpse?” she asked, reaching for me and forcibly turning me away.
“I covered him with a jacket,” Serano insisted.
“Yeah. He’s totally invisible now,” Saff drawled.
“I shot him,” I repeated for the third time. A parrot with one phrase she could repeat.
“Yeah? Seems like you didn’t really have a choice,” she said, pulling me toward the dining chair and pushing me down into it.
“He was going to shoot Cinna. Again.”
“Cinna is shot?” she asked, walking toward the kitchen.
“In her arm.”