Page 112 of Mine

Her eyes lock on mine as she slowly steps out of his hold.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Cillian appears in my peripheral vision.

My heart feels like it’s about to explode.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Cillian takes Sabine’s hand.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

I close my eyes and begin to squeeze the trigger.

“No!” Sabine lunges toward me.

Carlos raises his pistol.

Pop, pop, pop!

Sabine’s body flies backward, hitting the concrete with a sickening thud.

I scream, lunge across the floor, and drop to my knees next to her body.

More gunshots explode around me. Windows shatter, metal splits.

“Sabine, Sabine, Sabine!”

Screaming her name, I frantically run my hands over her motionless body, stopping on the growing pool of blood on her abdomen. I rip off my shirt, press it to the wound, and apply pressure.

“You’re going to be okay, my baby, you’re going to be okay.” My tears drop onto her face, sliding down cheeks that are growing paler by the minute. “Open your eyes, Sabine. I’m right here, I’m right here.”

Valerie is clawing at my clothes, screaming my name, trying to pull me away.

In the growing pool of blood under Sabine’s lifeless body, a sparkle of light catches my eye. I pluck the butterfly pendant from the blood and clutch it in my fist.

“My butterfly, my beautiful butterfly.” I begin sobbing uncontrollably. I can’t breathe. I can’t move.

The chaos drowns to a dull roar, and I suddenly feel like I’m floating, staring down at myself and Sabine from some weird omniscient place.

Cillian grabs my shoulders and drags me backward, pulling me away from her body.

“He’s got the place rigged with explosives!” he yells over my harrowing scream of grief. “Carlos never meant for any of us to get out of here alive. Come on! She’s dead, man—come on! Leo’s waiting for us outside! We’ve got to get out of here!”

I fight like a rabid dog, but it’s no use.

“She’s gone, Astor, she’s gone! We’ve got to get the hell out of here!”

Tears stream down my face as I scream her name over and over like a dog being gutted. The name of the only woman I’ve ever loved.

My beautiful, beautiful butterfly.

Sixty-Eight

Astor

Two days later . . .

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