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The words ring in my ears. Over and over and over and over and—
Make sure everyone is dead.
Make sure everyone is dead.
Make.
Sure.
Everyone.
Is.
Dead.
“Ezra!”
It’s all my fault. I let this happen. They’re all going to die, and it’s all my fault.
Before I have a chance to say anything else, to beg and plead for my life and the lives of my men, someone places a cloth over my mouth and nose. The astringent scent seeps into my nostrils, clogs my lungs, and suffocates me.
CHAPTERFORTY-FOUR
EZRA
I’m dead.
Or, at least, I think I am.
There’s nothing around me except pitch blackness. I feel like I’m floating, yet my body is still. I’m lying down, I think, but I don’t know why.
I don’t feel pain.
I don’t feel sadness.
I justam.
It shouldn’t surprise me so much that I’ve finally been killed. I know someone murdered me; you don’t exist in my line of work without enemies. I’m constantly fighting for my life every single day. It’s a struggle to keep my head above water because some days I just want to lie down and forget the world exists. But the one good thing in my world isn’t here.
Maya.
Where is she?
My eyelids flutter open, and I flinch when bright light peeks through my lashes. Someone calls my name, but they sound far away.
I don’t care about anything right now except for my sunflower.
Where the hell is she?
“I think he’s coming to,” someone says with relief. Dante, I think? I try to lift my head, but a firm hand grips my shoulder, gently pushing me back down. “Just lay there, man. Help is coming.”
Help? Help for what?
Suddenly, as if in answer to my inquisitive thoughts, a familiar pain shoots through my right shoulder. I groan, trying to sit up, but the hand won’t let me.
“Let him go, Dante,” someone says.
“He needs to be still,” Dante argues. “Once he sees Maya’s not here, he’ll lose his fucking mind.”
