THIS GUY IS a piece of work, a real prince charming. With every insult this asshole slings, Shelby’s grip on my side becomes a little tighter. I can feel her hand shake with what I assume is a mixture of fear and rage, but her grasp never falters. My side’s gone numb. “Put the gun down,” I say. “You’re not in a position to bargain with me. You have nothing I want,” he says. Shelby’s fingers dig into my flesh. He’s right. I don’t have the upper hand here. The girl, Becca, is crying. Tears stream down her face, and she has picked up a skipping rhythm when she breathes. If I don’t put down the gun, Shelby might have to watch her die. And it will be my fault. Slowly, I stretch my arms out at my sides and dangle the gun from my index finger. I bend at my knees and put the gun on the ground, then kick it toward Victor. It skids past him by barely a foot. “What is it you are going to do now, hero?”
