“We interrupt this scheduled program for breaking news. An active shooter has been reported on the intersection of Mulberry Street and Mitchell. Two have been injured and the shooter is still at large. Police ask that you av—”
“Oh God.” I jump from the couch.
“What’s wrong?” Alexandria asks.
“That’s my neighborhood. My sister.” I fumble for the burner phone on the cocktail table.
“You can’t call anyone,” Smiley says.
I leap from the couch as the six foot two, solid, brown-skinned man stands.
“It’s a burner phone.” Dancing back, I dial the number as Alexandria jumps in front of me.
“Go, Queenie,” she yells as I run for the back door, dialing the number I know by heart.
My stomach plummets as it continues to ring. “No. No. Please pick up, Ang.” Tears pour from my eyes.
“Hello.”
“Oh thank God, Ang.”
“Queenie, where the hell are you?”
“Are you safe?”
“I should be asking you that question.”
“You have no clue what happened, do you?”
“No? Should I?”
“There’s an active shooter near our townhouse. It’s on the news.”
“What?” she shrieks.
“Listen, I need you to stay with Mom and Dad until I tell you otherwise.”
“What the hell is going on?” Her voice is shaky, and it tears at my heart.
“I can’t tell you. It’d pull you deeper into the mess I’m in. Just know I’m safe.”
“That’s bullshit—”
The screen door opens.
“Just promise me you’ll stay with them. I have to go.” I hang up the phone.
“Give me the phone, Queenie,” Smiley barks.
“How can I communicate with Preacher then?” I ask.
“I’ll hand it to you, if that’s the case. Who was that?”
“My sister. That block is the one we live on,” I whisper quietly.
Exhaling, he growls. “I get it, but you can’t pull shit like that. You need to run things by me.”
“I understand.” I huff as he holds out his hand, palm up.
Slapping the phone down, I skirt past him wondering what the hell is going on with Preacher and the Sinners as violence continues to erupt sporadically.