Page 121 of Last Shot

Fuck. What now?

‘You can’t kill her,’ Grey said. ‘I understand you have to kill me, if you really believe I’m your brother, but you can’t kill Max. She’s not part of this. She’s not meant to be here. Like you said, Frankie, you don’t want to spill innocent blood. That’s not what you’re here to do.’

‘But she’s notinnocent, Greyson.’ Frankie clicked her tongue. ‘She’s going to tell people that it wasn’t Skinner. She loves you – I can see it. She’s not going to let you die without telling people. She’s a criminal. She’s got no future and nothing left to lose.’

Grey fought the horrific desire to laugh. ‘She’s not a criminal. And she doesn’t love me.’ Despite every cell in his body that told him to keep his eye on Frankie and the gun, Grey looked at Max, hunched over Ariana, not facing him or Frankie. ‘Do you?’

‘Now,’ Frankie called. ‘Do itNOW, Raphael!’

‘No!’ Grey screamed as Frankie turned her gun towards Max. But the sound of bullets came from behind the door. He counted the shots like he’d been taught to do. Even though he was dead, he was still counting.

Pop.

Tomaso.

Pop.

Luca.

Pop.

Vittoria.

Pop.

Nella.

Frankie must have shot him then, because the next thing he heard could not have been real.

‘I’m sorry. But I do love him,’ Max said as she pulled Grey’s gun from under the crook of Ariana’s arm.

40

Max

Grey had lied.

Max saw it crack across his face when Raphael took the Barbaranis through the corridor. It chipped away, every shot. Tom, Luca, Nella.

He’d lied about killing that kid.

A person like that – who’d left the watch for her to find, who’d given his jacket to a random girl who’d slept with Luca, who’d left his gun underneath the unconscious body of Ariana in case she woke up, in case Max read his signal – still had hope, still thought of every possibility. Except for the possibility that someone might be able to love him for who he was and not because of who he served.

A person like that didn’t kill an innocent kid to save someone’s reputation.

Some part of her still wanted to save him even if he had, even if he’d killed the boy on the balcony to save someone he loved. She’d meant to kill Evan, knife or no knife. She’d fired that last shot, knowing there was the possibility she would. And she’d been okay with that.

Did that make her better than the version of Greyson who deliberately threw a boy off a balcony?

Maybe. But she was ninety per cent sure he’d lied.

The gun in her hand thrummed like it was alive. It had the same weight as her work pistol. The same weight as the one she’d pointed at Evan.

So much power. Life, death, in her hands. One squeeze.

‘You see?’ Frankie smiled. ‘She loves you, Greyson. Now, I’m gonna close my eyes while I do this, I don’t really like blood ...’

The gun was pointing at Grey. Max’s fingers were jammed. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t move. She was going to make the same mistake again. The steel of the trigger pressed uselessly into her finger.

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