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Fletcher rolled his eyes skywards. “Dios Mio.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You’d think that the fun police made you their mascot, and you’re just waiting for the pig costume to arrive.”
“Pig?” I asked dryly.
“Eh.” Fletcher shrugged, still bopping to the beat. “I could have said bear, but you don’t protect our national parks from forest fires.”
My nostrils flared as I bit back a guffawing laugh. Fletcher had a way of dragging humor out of me, which I wasn’t happy about. I wanted to mope, come to terms with my shit, and actually talk about my problems.
I had a feeling that the guys would not be A-okay with forming a trust circle in the suite back at the Bellagio.
Even though they were dotted around the club, Maddox, Rome, Fletcher, and Jamal turned as one towards the door. As if they had sensed something that I hadn’t.
Motionless, they watched the archway leading to the coat check and the club's main entrance.
Brow furrowed, I remained on the sidelines, a curious bystander along for the ride.
I didn’t know what they were waiting for until I felt it. Like a cat being rubbed the wrong way or accidentally biting a lump of aluminum foil.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
At first, he looked like an ordinary man as he bypassed the coat check even though he wore a khaki denim army jacket that swamped his skinny frame.
His hair was floppy greasy, and he kept one arm in the folds of his coat and the other wrapped around his chest as if he was holding something under his clothes.
His nostrils flared. His hatred had a smell like rotten eggs and week-old chicken left in the sun.
He couldn’t have been more than seventeen. Probably used a fake ID.
A woman sauntering past Army Jacket, wearing high heels and acrylic nails that probably cost as much as a forty-hour workweek on minimum wage.
Army Jacket moved quickly. He shucked his coat to the ground and revealed a gun that looked like a prop in the flashing lights of the dim club.
The first gunshot was drowned out by the music.
I was frozen. Torn between going to help or running away. I was dead, so I couldn’t die twice, could I?
But the self-preservationist inside of me demanded I drop to the floor and play dead.
The Reapers gathered at the edge of the dance floor but moved towards the man with the semi-automatic rifle.
“We have to stop him,” I whispered.
I didn’t realize I had spoken out loud until Maddox replied.
“Can’t.” He spat bitterly. “Go on, try it. See how that works for you.”
I tried to move my feet, my mission in mind, but my body was frozen solid the second I tried it. I could move my arms and twist from side to side. I could step back, but the moment I focused on going forward towards the shooter, my muscles locked up as if they were made of brick.
Army Jacket fired into the crowd, dropping a young couple, as he stepped forward. The public had just begun to realize that something was wrong.
“Shooter!” Someone screamed.
The DJ dove behind his podium.
Army Jacket fired at one of the dancers surrounding the stage.
I prayed the cops were on their way, but Ifeltit as the first victim passed away. Slipping out of their body and stealing the air from my lungs.
One by one, the victims passed on and stepped out of their bodies. Fully formed souls, just like I had been.
