Page 63 of The Kat Bunglar

The paramedic hesitated before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I believe the police will want to talk to you. We’ll take care of him, though.” He nodded solemnly, tipping his hat before he and his team loaded Gabriel onto the gurney.

Laila’s heart cracked as she whispered, almost inaudible, “But he said he loved me.”

Kat heard the words as she stepped out of the car; Christian followed close behind. The sound of sirens pierced the air. The smoke from the gunfight still hung in the streets, and the shell casings glistened under the streetlights like forgotten promises. Her eyes welled up. This was all her fault. She had almost gotten Gabriel killed.

She turned to Christian, her hands trembling. Tears streaming down her face as the weight of her actions hit her.

“I’m so sorry,” Kat kept repeating, in delirium. “I’m really, really sorry.”

Christian met her gaze, her eyes filled with a quiet understanding. She nodded slowly, her voice barely a whisper. “I know. I know.” Then, without a word more, Christian pulled her into a hug.

“It’s okay,” Christian replied, stroking her hair. “It’s going to be okay.”

?Chapter 12

Unfiltered Aftershock

Kat Kar

Kat, Christian, andLaila stumbled into their apartment just as the first light of dawn broke over the city. Kat’s legs buckled as they crossed the threshold, and she caught herself against the doorframe. Her body ached, not from any physical exertion but from the hollow, gnawing exhaustion that eight hours of police questioning had left in its wake. She felt like a dishcloth wrung out to dry.

The apartment was eerily quiet. The familiar hum of the fridge and the faint scent of lavender from a half-burned candle by the sink felt almost alien now, out of sync with the night they’d just endured. Kat glanced at Christian, who hovered by the counter, her face pale and drawn, the shadows under her eyes cutting deep. Laila, still clutching her phone like a lifeline, let out a sharp exhale before sinking into the deflated futon.

“They caught them,” Laila said, breaking the silence. Her voice was firm but tinged with something brittle, like glass about to crack. “Joseph and Smoke. They’ll be tied to the arms smuggling charges—no mention of us, no mention of Chicago.” She looked pointedly at Kat and Christian, her gaze sharp enough to slice through the haze of exhaustion. “You both got through this clean. But you need to be careful from here on out. Both of you.”

Kat nodded numbly, but the weight of Laila’s words pressed against her chest. She shuffled toward the fridge, pulling out three cans of Poppi, and handed them out without a word. When she finally spoke, her voice was small, tentative. “Thank you so much for today, Laila. I never expected you to help—”

Laila waved her off, her movements brusque. “Kat, you saved Christian’s life.” She started to say something else but stopped abruptly when her phone began buzzing in her hand. She checked the screen and her face shifted, her usual calm facade cracking to reveal the barest flicker of fear. “It’s the hospital. I need to take this.” She stepped into the living room, her voice low as she answered the call.

Kat turned to Christian, who was fiddling with the tab of her soda can. The sound of the metal clicking back and forth grated against the silence.

Christian finally looked up, her smile wobbly. “She’s right, you know. Thank you for saving me.”

Kat swallowed hard, the lump in her throat impossible to ignore. She sank onto the barstool, burying her face in her hands. “This never would have happened if I hadn’t come up with that god-awful plan.” Her voice cracked, muffled by her palms. “You must hate me. I’d understand if you hated me.”

Christian set the can down carefully, the hollow clink echoing in the stillness. She took a deep breath, the kind that seemed to steady her from the inside out. “Kat, I don’t hate you. If anything, I owe you my life. You warned me, you tried to stop me—”

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