Page 98 of Cruel Hearts

Zane yanks my arm and I have no choice but to go with him. Paulo hasn’t shown up. That was one thing no one took into consideration. The sidewalk is too busy and Paulo can’t try to mug Zane without getting caught.

We stop at the end of the block. It’s quieter here. The street behind us is dark, full of office buildings closed at this time of the night.

He raises a hand to slap me, and I shrink away. A paparazzo captures him, his hand hovering in the air, but when Zane steps toward him, he scurries away.

“Give me your wallet,” Paulo says, stepping out of the shadows. He’s dressed in black, a baseball cap low over his eyes, and he aims a black handgun at Zane. The metal glints in the streetlight we’re standing under, and it looks dangerous, lethal. Real.

“Fuck off,” Zane says, playing his part so convincingly I can imagine him saying precisely those words if some fool really did attempt to mug him.

“Give me your wallet or the girl gets it.”

“What the fuck?” Zane asks, laughing. “You sound like an idiot. Get lost.”

A large group of people walk in front of us, and their chatter carries to me.

Paulo pulls the trigger.

I hear the click, or maybe I just imagine I do.

The group’s voices fade.

That’s something else we should have practiced. I wasn’t prepared for how loud the gun’s blast would sound, and I stagger backward, my ears ringing.

I know what I have to do.

This is the part where I’m supposed to pretend to stumble and fall, but there’s no need for that.

The pain shooting through my chest is unlike anything I have ever felt before. It hurts more than when I fell on the tracks. More than when Denton tackled me. More than when I laid on the bank of the river catching my breath after almost drowning. More than when I found Maryanne dead in her house. Maybe all those things wrapped up into one.

That’s how much I hurt.

Paulo runs away, his footfalls lost in the blood pounding in my ears and the screams of people nearby.

I wobble in my heels and fall to the ground.

Paulo really shot me, and I’m going to die.

The bright lights of downtown tilt. That’s all I can focus on because pain has consumed every inch of my body and there is nothing else in my world.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Zane

There’s blood everywhere.

I know it’s supposed to be. The fake blood in the pouch Mel bought looked like the real thing.

Bright, sticky, red.

It was my job to pop the bag but I didn’t touch her. I kneel at Stella’s side. Her eyelids are fluttering, but she’s not with me. This wasn’t the plan. Paulo was supposed to be shooting a prop gun.

People scream around me, scurrying down the sidewalk, searching for cover or using their phones to film Stella and me. I can’t move. Then suddenly Max is crouching beside me, and I can’t figure out why he’s here or where he came from.

“Stick with the plan,” he mutters.

“Someone shot her,” I say, numb. The words don’t make any sense.

“Yeah, I saw it.” Max raises his voice and says, “we need to get her to the hospital.”

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