“One more question,” I ask, standing up slowly. “Can we talk to your son?”

“Is that why you’re really here?” Shawnda asks, hands on her hips. “He owe you money?”

“No—” Adam starts.

“You want revenge? Just let it go. He’s already in prison.” She throws open the front door. “Now get out.”

“What?” Chris roars. “What? ”

I cover my ears to block out his voice, but of course it doesn’t work. Trent yells, “Chris, wait!”

Oh shit, not again. Adam and I rush outside, and the door slams shut behind us. Chris stomps across the grass toward the apartment. “Shawnda!” he yells. “Shawnda, where’s my son?”

“Dude, knock it off!” Trent says, grabbing his arm. Chris turns and punches Trent in the face. He falls to the ground, into the muddy weeds.

“Stop!” Zoe yells at Chris, bending down to help Trent. “Stop it!”

“Chris, get back in the car,” I say, blocking his path. Adam stands beside me, but Chris towers over both of us. I dig my feet into the earth, taking a fighting stance.

“I need to find my son.” Chris glares at us, his mouth twisted with rage. “Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

I raise my hands to try to calm him down. “Chris—”

He slams between me and Adam, trying to get by. The force knocks us back, but we hold our ground. I can’t let Chris talk to Shawnda—not like this anyway.

I don’t want to fight him. I really don’t. Not anymore. Not when we might be dead in a few days. But he leaves me no choice.

Chris tries to get by us again, and I shove him in the chest. Not that it does much good—it’s like shoving a mountain. But it sure makes him mad.

He takes a swing at me, but I duck, coming up under his punch. With my hands in fists, I slam a quick jab into his side. He tries to grab me, but I dart away, out of his reach.

Adam’s yelling something, but my focus has narrowed to just Chris and his massive, tattooed arms. He’s a big guy, but I’m small and quick. I just have to make sure he doesn’t hit me.

That thought doesn’t last long. Chris swings at my gut and I dodge it, only to be punched in the face a second later. Everything goes black and then I’m on my knees somehow, my vision blurry. My face throbs with heat and pain, but I see Chris standing over me.

I reach around, hands shaking, and open the pouch on the side of my backpack. Then the gun is in my hand, pointed at Chris. “Stay back!” I yell.

“What the…” Chris freezes. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“It was in my backpack.” The gun wobbles in my grip, but I don’t lower it. “Get back!”