He crouches over Alvin and flips him so he is on his back. I can’t make out what he says because blood is pounding in my ears. Tomas fists a handful of Alvin’s hair then lets his head fall to the floor with a thwack of skull on marble.
“What about Alvin?” I ask.
Tommy shakes his head. “Just you. I’ll have someone come by and help your husband”—he says the word with pure disgust—“get his story straight for the cops. But if you’re coming with me, then we have to go. Right now. No other choices.”
He stands and steps over Alvin, then holds a hand out to me.
He’s calm and smug and I hate him for everything he was and everything he is. But I don’t have any other choice until I figure out what to do.
Things work for me because I plan, then if the plan goes awry, I adapt. But this clusterfuck
