GUN IN MY HAND

CHAPTER 72: FOR YOU, FOR THEM, FOR HER

'And if I could turn back the clock

I'd make sure the light defeated the dark

I'd spend every hour, of every day

Keeping you safe'

However, before I could boast, tease him, or just savor the small confession, his smile twitched down, and the heat that had rushed through my blood with his bad intention disappeared as sharply as the grin did, leaving me frozen when the seriousness fell on his features.

"But if we're being honest, there's one thing I have to tell you– two actually."

I wasn't sure if it was the words in themselves, the faraway look in his eyes as if he was already slipping away from me, or the movement of his fingers distancing themselves from my belly. But it embedded a bad feeling deep in my guts – unless it was just the long seconds of silence that gave enough time for the suppositions flashing through my mind to travel in shivers down my spine.

Had something bad happened during the trip? Had someone recognized him? Had he got into trouble? Had he killed someone? Had he been with another girl? In comparison with the other possible scenarios, it wasn't as serious, and I couldn't be jealous after everything, yet it twisted my insides as much.

I could barely croak out a 'yes?' to encourage him to speak, and he wasn't really helping when his gaze traveled to my belly, and he led me to sit on a chair like what he was about to say was earth-shattering, and I needed to brace myself. Though maybe it was just him who needed it, as he took a seat in front of me, gripping the edges of the table.

"I lied," he paused for a breath, deep enough to send more suppositions down my guts.

About what? The trip? Counting time? That everything had gone well? About what he'd done?

"About the name. There's another one."

That was the only thing that hadn't crossed my mind, and I didn't know what to think of it as the relief was already washing away all the other possibilities, but the tensions in in his own body, from his inked fingers to his frown, didn't let me take a breath.

"A guy with no alibi and exactly the same height as you, and he's a newbie in their gang, so it'll be easier to frame him. It could even be his motive to kill Douglas, like some rite of passage." His hands went to the pockets of his jacket – which he still hadn't taken off in all of this – to pull out a small rectangle of paper, and he unfolded it about ten times until it was a sheet as large as the one he'd handed me minutes ago.

"I wanted to talk about it with you before, but then, Spencer asked, and I didn't think," he continued, sliding the piece of paper towards me, yet I didn't give it a glance.

All my attention was on the man before me and the why buried somewhere behind his clenched jaw and sharp gaze, and I guessed he was getting used to my questionings because I didn't even have to ask when he let out a resigned sigh.

"He's 16, probably a kid who grew up there."

I finally understood why he had made me sit as the information fell down on me like a ton of bricks, 16 tons of bricks, and for the first time, I looked at the paper.

Jeffrey Pelor. The description was as succinct as Jack Rogers's, the photo as blurry, although we could distinguish the man – or should I've said 'boy' – was young and scary too.