For Clara, Adrian dared to threaten my man.
A man who had raised me, prepared everything for me, practically like my own uncle.
Fury tore through me. “Let him go, Adrian!”
His jaw tightened, unable to meet my eyes.
“Give Clara back to me.”
“Please, Coco.”
Even at that moment, he still called me by my nickname.
Was it to make me feel even more disgusted?
I forced down the surge of hatred in my gut and leveled the gun at Clara’s left leg from the small of my back.
With a bang, blood sprayed across my cheek.
Ignoring the red haze in my eyes, I roared,
“Adrian, you know exactly how insane I am!”
“I swear, if you lay one more finger on Harris, she’ll die even worse!”
My finger rested on the trigger. I watched Adrian’s startled gaze and smiled.
I was betting he’d relent—beg for peace.
But the moment I yanked Clara by the hair,
a bullet tore through the palm of my right hand.
The drilling pain flooded my brain a breath too late.
The gaping hole was so deep I could see bone, shredded flesh sloughing off like pus with torn tendons.
As I trembled from the agony, Adrian’s men burst through the door.
The roses he had planted for me were trampled into the dirt under their boots.
He scooped Clara into his arms—payback for those eighteen stabs three years ago.
“The second time, Coco.”
“No matter how much I indulge you, I will never allow Clara to fall in front of me again!”
Adrian rushed out with the woman.
His men formed a wary circle around me, not sparing a glance for the bloody crater in my right hand.
Jaw clenched, I collapsed bonelessly onto the sofa.
I stared at my right hand, the fingers refusing to curl no matter how I tried—despair swallowing me whole.
No one knew better than Adrian how much I’d paid to hold my place in the underworld, licking blood from the knife’s edge.
I’d held a gun since seven, won the shooting championship in Newport City’s underground, and survived countless close calls with this hand.
My bullets were the noose around our enemies’ necks, the ladder beneath my feet.
Now it was ruined.
Nearly twenty years—gratitude or hatred, it no longer mattered.
Adrian, there is no “later” for us.
When the doctor came to stabilize me, Adrian’s people let him through, no resistance.
After a rough dressing, the doctor’s face turned grim.
“You need surgery immediately.”
“Ms. Hayes, even if you never hold a gun again, we must ensure it doesn’t affect your daily life.”