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Carson presses his lips together, shifting his gaze to the photo in his hand Then he flips it around and shows it to ht in front of my face so there’s nowhere else I can look
A choked gasp falls from my lips
The picture was taken at night, and parts of it are obscured slightly by shadows But I can see what Carson is trying to show h
It’s a body
A htly odd angles Blood pools around his torso and soaks through the front of his dark gray shirt He looks young, teens or early twenties at most
Vicious memories assault e of the way ht I was shot I re cool as it left ris ornumb
Did my limbs splay out aardly like that? Like I was a doll that’d been dropped by a careless child?
Bile rushes upbreaths to try to force down the vomit
“Why the fuck… are you showing… me this?”
Carson doesn’t move the picture away from my face “Because I know Marcus never will He likes to pretend he doesn’t have blood on his hands—yours and thishis voice “This man’s name was Devin Brooks, and he was killed by Marcus Constantine in cold blood the saht you saved Marcus’s life Just hours before, in fact That’s what you did, Ayla You saved a murderer”
My throat closes up Air stops s
 
; No That’s not right
That can’t be right
Another barrage of hover and over toward Greg’s face Of the rage that seemed to fill his entire body in that moment, as if violence was an unalterable part of his DNA