Getting him into the back seat is its own special kind of hell. He’s too tall, too heavy, too bleedy, too everything. I shove at his shoulders while he maneuvers his legs as best as he can.
Between the two of us, we manage to fold him sideways across the bench. I do accidentally bang his head against the far door and he grunts in pain.
“Exquisite. Please drive the f*****g car.”
I don’t like how his retorts are getting less and less snappy, his voice quieter and quieter. It’s like his spirit is pouring out of him through the wound in his side.
Fuck me, this is not the death I wanted tonight. I should’ve known I’d f**k it up. Who hires a hitman and then immediately gets that hitman killed? Me, that’s who. Hapless, luckless Cassandra Snyder, who will forever remain trapped in a prison of
