Page 58 of Like You Know

I screamed.

The shrill sound cut through the warm night, echoing off the buildings.

Two men had my mom by the arms, and as I watched in horror, they shoved her roughly into the back seat of the car.

I screamed again, clawing at the arms keeping me prisoner—keeping me from my mom.

“Let the girl go!” a male voice shouted. A uniformed cop ran toward us from the same corner we’d rounded just minutes earlier. He had his gun drawn and pointed in my direction.

Immediately, I was released. I stumbled slightly as I shouted and pointed at the car. I didn’t even know what I was saying, but I needed him to save my mom.

Mom started screaming at the same time, the sound muffled from inside the SUV.

The cop turned his gun in that direction. “Step out of the vehicle, now!” he shouted to the two men inside. Of course, they didn’t. They took off, and the policeman fired, taking out a taillight.

One of the men leaned out of the SUV’s window, and someone yanked me into the air and spun me around on the spot. Only as the sound of several gunshots rent the air did I realize it was Jet holding me. It had been him all along. He’d grabbed me out of the way when those men snatched my mom, and then he’d shielded me against the wall of the building when they fired at us.

Just as suddenly, his weight disappeared. I pushed off the wall, shaking.

Tires screeched again, and I cried out.

They had my mom!

I took a few running steps after the car, but it was pointless. They were gone. My mom was gone.

“Amaya!” Jet’s voice stopped me in my tracks, and I turned around. “Stay with me.”

He was crouching by the officer’s prone form, holding his dress shirt over the bullet wound as the poor man writhed in pain.

“They’re gone.” His eyes turned soft as mine narrowed. “I need your help, beautiful. I need your help with this. Please.”

I didn’t want to help Jet. I wanted to run after my mom. But I couldn’t possibly catch a speeding car, and the man on the ground was in real trouble. His arms hung limp beside him, and he’d gone really pale.

I stumbled over and dropped to my knees next to them. Jet took charge, guiding my hands to take over from his and press into the wound. The shirt was soaked, and my fingers felt disgusting in the warm, slippery blood.

“We need to call 911.” My voice shook.

But I had no idea where my phone was, and I needed both hands to lean all my body weight into the bullet wound. Jet would have to call.

I looked in his direction, but he was already getting to his feet as he pulled the cop’s walkie-talkie off his shoulder.

What the fuck was he doing?

He was going to leave me here, elbow deep in a dying man’s blood. Just like everyone else. Everyone left me.

“Officer down!” Jet barked into the walkie as his eyes bored into mine. “Corner of Second and Willow. Two armed perpetrators in a white Toyota RAV4 driving south on Park.” He rattled off the license plate number, staring me down as the truth came crashing down around me.

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

I’d been scrubbingmy hands at the station’s bathroom sink for a solid ten minutes, but I just couldn’t get the blood out from under my nails. I needed a nail brush to really get under there, and even then ... I blew out a breath and leaned against the porcelain, the water still running.

Who was I kidding? I was going to have to get a manicure, a whole new set. The thought had barely entered my mind before guilt hit me like a punch in the gut. Avoiding my own reflection in the dirty mirror, I squirted more soap into my hands and started lathering again.

A man had nearly died, and here I was worried about my manicure. I was disgusted with myself.

I scrubbed harder, digging under my nails with my other nails.

Jet placed a gentle hand on my shoulder—barely a soft graze—but I startled anyway.

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