6:27 P.M.
It’s over. At the cop’s commands, Parker raises his hands, ignoring how the movement makes something grate in his side. Ignoring how his left pinky finger juts out at a weird angle from the rest of his hand.
The girl in the bloodstained shirt is screaming over the dead or wounded killers, Mole and Nicholas—the brother who stabbed him, the one Miranda marched in and who just got shot by the cops. Ron is still unconscious.
That leaves Wolf, and no one should leave Wolf.
Because instead of raising his hands, he bolts. As he runs, he reaches into the back of his waistband and pulls out something long and silver. It’s that pistol with a silencer screwed onto the end, the one he used to shoot the guy whose phone rang. And then he darts toward Stanford and snatches Moxie out of her arms.
A cold fist of horror squeezes Parker’s heart as Wolf points the gun at his sister’s head.
“Parker!” Moxie screams, her arms reaching out to him. “Parker!”