“Fuck you, Fallon. I’m always excluded. I’m going this time,” she said, ending her call to Dom and trying again.
Fuck.
“Fine. Try to not get killed,” I said, tearing out of the parking lot on screeching tires, my heart in my throat.
“Text him. Call Vin or Seeley. B. Someone. Fuck.”
Stella grabbed my phone and called from both our phones and sent messages, but no one answered.
Fuck. Bianca. Please be OK.
We tore through the streets as fast as I could go.
“Get my gun,” I said tightly. “It’s in the glove box.”
“Jesus,” she muttered, snagging the gun out.
I grabbed it from her and tucked it in my jacket.
“Are you really going to go killing people?”
“Won’t be the first time,” I muttered, making a hard right.
She cursed at me before going back to making phone calls.
My heart was in my throat. I needed a fucking vacation from all this shit. We all did. I’d suggest one at the next team meeting.