Petty went completely still. Whatever color she had left in her cheeks disappeared, leaving her ghostly white as she stared at the man across from her, unable to believe what she was hearing.
Her ears were buzzing, and Franco’s words got tangled up in the noise, sounding distant and unreal, like something out of a nightmare.
Hassan…
He killed him.
“No way!” The man gripping her snapped out of his shock, his voice rising in pure rage. “Hassan overdosed, that’s how he died! You really think you can spin this around, get me to change targets, and use the distraction to save her?”
He tightened his hold on Petty, pressing the knife closer as he glared at Franco. “Back up! All of you, get back!”
The knife’s edge bit into Petty’s skin again, leaving a thin line of blood on her neck.
Franco’s eyes turned sharp. He lifted his hand just slightly, a silent signal for Jay and Harris to stay put and not do anything reckless.
Her neck looked so fragile, streaked with blood and paler than ever. Anyone could see she was at her breaking point. Who knew what she’d been through since they dragged her here: the cold, the fear, all of it written on her body. A cut on her forehead, a bright red slap mark across her cheek, a fresh wound on her neck, and her palms raw and bleeding from being scraped against the ground.
Franco… do you even know? I’m actually terrified of pain…
A cold light flickered in Franco’s eyes. “Did you really not know? That syringe, it wasn’t even fully injected, and the stuff in it was pure, ninety-nine percent. No one can handle that, not even someone like Hassan. You think he would actually use that on himself?”
Petty felt the man’s grip on her arm falter for a second.
Clearly, Franco’s words had shaken him, but he quickly snapped back, voice hoarse. “Even if you’re telling the truth, Hassan’s sister is the woman you love! Why would you kill her brother?”
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