His dark hair was slicked back, a few stray drops of water clinging to his jaw.

He looked at me first, his eyes scanning my body for injuries.

His gaze lingered on my stomach for a fraction of a second.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” I said, keeping my eyes on Evelyn.

Marcus shrank back further into the shadows.

“Dante,” Marcus said, his voice cracking.

“We were just talking. She has a gun. She’s crazy.”

Dante didn’t look at Marcus yet.

He walked down the remaining steps, his shoes crunching on the gravelly dirt.

“Evelyn,” I warned as I saw her fingers twitch toward a broken piece of concrete on the floor.

She lunged forward anyway, aiming for my shins.

I stepped back, but my heel caught on a rotting wooden crate.

I stumbled, losing my balance.

Evelyn scrambled up, her fingernails clawing at my face.

I blocked her arm with my forearm, the pain radiating up my shoulder.

The gun slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the wet ground.

“Get off me!” I gasped, protecting my abdomen with my other arm.