6
Nico
Amuffled crash startles me from sleep and I jolt upward. My eyes are heavy, but my heart jackhammers inside of my chest, panic forcing out the exhaustion. Shaye is still breathing quietly next to me, her head buried in a pillow. I swing my legs over the side of my bed, my feet hitting the hardwood floor. A loud creak is followed by another, and I dart my eyes around to find my gun…the gun I’ve carried but haven’t had to use in months.
I don’t have to look for long. It’s sitting right next to my watch on the nightstand.
When did I put it there? I’d never leave it exposed like that…
I swallow hard and creep over to the door.
Footsteps. I hear them coming closer. Heavier. Louder.
I flip off the safety and twist the door handle.
How did he get in here? How did he find me?
I pull open the door and there are even more footsteps. Now those footsteps are coupled with loud voices, and the scent of lilies assaults my nostrils.
Lilies. Pollen. Allergies.
My eyes tear up, my throat tight. I step into the hallway, gun pointed toward the kitchen.
But it’s not the kitchen I’m looking into anymore.
I take a few steps, entering a large, taupe-colored room filled with chairs and noisy people. And pollen. Lots of fucking pollen. My nose immediately suffers the effects. I creep forward, shirtless, barefoot, and in sweatpants. Nobody seems to notice. They all nod and smile at me before going back to their loud conversations.
Where the fuck am I?
“Nico, thank you so much for coming.”
Who is this person? And why is she thanking me?
“I’m Carlo’s sister. He always had such wonderful things to say about you.” She smiles, her expression friendly.
I force my lips to curl into a smile. “He was a good man.”
More footsteps. These are angry and coming from behind me. I spin around, but not in enough time to prevent the attack.
“He was. Until you got him killed! You’re a murderer!”
Carlo’s wife lunges for me, her long red nails lancing my neck. Nobody tries to stop her though. They just let her attack me like a wolverine.
I deserve it. I know I do. This is my fault.
“You let him die! My husband was killed because of you!” Her voice pierces my brain, the screams and threats pummeling me as hard as her fists.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. So sorry,” I mumble, gripping the bedsheet in my fist. I gasp and jump out of the bed, pulse throbbing, sweat pouring down the front of my chest.
Fuck me.
Lilies. Death. Grandpa. Carlo.
I’ll never buy another one of those fucking flowers again.