Page 95

CONAN

J ust as Finn barrels around the corner, I yank open the driver’s door, gun aimed straight ahead.

The bastard is slumped over the steering wheel, blood pouring from a cut on his forehead.

I take a step closer—and that’s when I see it. The glint of metal resting in his lap, barrel lifted, pointing right at me.

Fuck.

I don’t think. I just fire.

Our shots explode at the same time.

I don’t feel it at first. I just stagger back, staring in shock as a hole blooms in the side of his skull.

Fuck. Fuck.

My hand comes up to my chest. Warmth soaks my fingers. My ears are ringing.

I need to get back to Hallie.

“Conan!” Finn’s voice is shouting somewhere far away, ragged and panicked.

I keep walking. One step, then another, toward Hallie’s Shelby. But with each step, the world gets fuzzier around the edges.

Pain ignites under my ribs, searing hot, stealing my breath.

I’m almost there—just a few more steps. Her taillights blur into a halo of red.

My foot catches on nothing. My knees buckle.

I hit the asphalt hard, the impact rattling through my bones.

“Conan. Stay with me.”

Finn’s hands are on me, but my gaze is locked on the car door opening and Hallie’s silhouette rushing toward me.

Her face appears above me, blurred and beautiful, the only thing keeping me tethered to this place.

I’m moved onto my back. Someone—her—presses firm hands against my chest.

Finn is yelling into his phone. He never yells. He sounds…scared.

I can’t look away from her.

“Conan. Can you hear me?” Her voice is so soft, so familiar, it feels like a lullaby.

I have so much to say—so many things she needs to know.

“I can hear you.”

I just have to hold on a little longer. She has to know she meant more to me than anything in this fucked-up life.