Page 108 of The Art of Dying

“Yes, you are.” She glanced at the Cadillac. “Because your babies come first.”

My head fell to my chest, and I felt a sob well up within me. For years, I didn’t feel like Gina was a true friend, and now it felt like I was leaving my sister to die.

She rested her hand on the crown of my head. “It’s okay. Go.”

I took a breath as I raised my head to speak, but the back door opened and closed again.

“Take your gun and hide,” she whispered.

“Mack?” Kitsch called. “Mack!”

I stood. “Kitsch?”

His dark silhouette appeared, and I ran to him, nearly tackling him to the ground.

He grunted, and it wasn’t until I stopped hugging him that I realized he was bleeding.

“What the hell happened?”

He smiled. “Just a scratch. You got the kids?”

“In the car. But I need your help with Gina. She caught a bullet. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

His face fell. “I went to the house first.”

I led him to Gina, who was already unconscious, her head laying on her right shoulder. Apollo was whining and sniffing her, as Kitsch checked her pulse, but then his ears perked up, and he began to growl at something behind us. Kitsch pulled his gun, pointing it toward where we’d just stood.

“It’s a party!” Mason said, his gun already aimed at my husband.

Kitsch kept his sidearm pointed at Mason and used the other to sweep me behind him. “Why don’t you put the gun down, Mason. You’re scaring my girl.”

“That’s my girl you’re talking about,” Mason said with a wry smile.

He pulled a semi-automatic rifle hanging from a strap around his shoulder and held down the trigger, loading my SUV with bullets. The tires popped and flatted, the hood began to steam.

I screamed. “Stop! Stop!”

He let the rifle fall to his side.

“My kids are in the car!”

Mason smiled. “I know. And if you don’t walk over to me, right now, the Caddy is next.”

Kitsch frowned and glanced at me.

“You got ten seconds to decide, Mack,” Mason said.

I breathed out, letting go of my grip on my husband’s shirt.

“Mack, don’t,” he said. He reached for me, but I slipped out beyond his fingers, walking slowly toward Mason.

I looked over my shoulder to Kitsch. “Take the kids and go.”

“I’m taking you all home,” he said. He looked to Mason. “Not you, though. The place I’m getting ready to send you is one big campfire.”

Mason raised his weapon, but I sidestepped into the line of fire.

“Mack, don’t,” Kitsch growled.

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