No s**t I’m shaking, I want to say. The video is still playing on a loop in my head. Anton’s hands around his own wife’s throat…
And then the disappearing picture that followed. The one that showed the blood. Endless blood matting Marina’s silky blond hair. So much f*****g blood.
I glance at Chris. He’s still watching me. I’m not even sure he’s been looking at the road for more than five seconds in a row since he picked me up.
“You keep saying that.” His tone is drawn tight with worry. “So why don’t I believe you?”
“What happened?” he interrupts, undercutting the sensitive, patient vibe he had going when I first got into his beat-up Ford.
It’s been his car for as long as I can remember. I was with him when he made his first payment. That was almost eight years ago now.
My eyes burn a
