I push to my feet and make my way over to the wet bar, where I pour myself out a glass of scotch. I’m itching to take a sip, but trying to drink anything right now makes my stomach turn. Everything feels so unsettled. I’m torn between whether to pace or drop to the floor. To punch something or curl up into the fetal position.

All I know is that I can’t go to a hospital. First, there’s no way my insurance will cover a bullet hole. Second, the police will definitely be called, which folds into third, the masked man.

His pinky swear.

“All I need,” he said, expressive eyes pinning my gaze, “is for you to promise you’ll go away. If you disappear, no one will know that I didn’t follow through, and then if they think you’re dead, no one else will come for you. Get it?”

“You want me to fake my own death.”

That threw him for a second. “Not in the leave blood trails or a suicide note way or whatever. But leave the city. Disappear. Take your family or whoever with you, and try not to kick any puppies on the way.”

“What do you get out of it?”

“A payday I really fucking need.” He held up his little finger between us. “Do we have a deal?”

I’m still not sure I believe him. “Fine,” I’d snapped. “But I’m not doing … that.”

He bounced his gloved pinky between us. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go unless you seal the contract.”

So I did it. Wrapped my little finger around his and watched the way those curious eyes crinkled at the corners, over the top of his unhinged mask. Under his hood, I’m sure I made out dark hair, but who knows if it was real or a wig or a trick of the shadows around us.

“Reilly?” Lars pulls me from my head as he takes my arm and turns me to face him. “I’m serious. We need to get that looked at.”

“Do we have a first aid kit here?”

“Dude, no. Come on. You were shot. We need the hospital, and we need to go to the police. Maybe if they see all this, they’ll start to take things with Colin seriously.”

And maybe they’ll catch the ridiculous man with the gun and terrible aim, or maybe they won’t. One of those things is more likely, and when they don’t catch him, he’ll come back to finish the job.

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“No, we can’t go to the hospital. Or the police.”

“That’s going to get infected.”

“Then you better clean it really fucking well.” It’s risk infection or a redo of tonight, and I know which one I’d prefer.

He’s silent as he studies my face. “What the fuck happened?”