Brian took a while to respond, clearly hesitant. “I am at an old warehouse on the way to the Valsequillo industrial park,” he said.
“Victor wants money and a truck,” he added.
“Don’t go there alone,” I said, the words escaping my mouth before I could think.
On the other side of the line, Brian let out a sad, hollow laugh. “Now you are worried if something happens to me,” he whispered.
It hurt to admit it, but yes, I was worried. Not because I loved him in the same way, and not because I wanted to go back to our old life.
But a part of me still remembered the man who used to bring me sweet pastries when I left the office late. “Don’t do anything stupid,” I told him.
“I have already done too many stupid things in my life,” he replied before the call was cut off by a loud, sudden crash.
The prosecutor’s office acted immediately, and I insisted on going with them. Henderson refused at first, but I ended up in the back of a patrol car because Brian had called my name just before the line went dead.
We arrived at the warehouse in the middle of a torrential downpour. A gunshot rang out from the dark interior.
It all happened like a waking nightmare. The officers breached the building, and I stayed behind a heavy truck, soaked to the bone and shivering.
I heard shouting, heavy footsteps, another gunshot, and then a voice yelling that someone was hit. When they finally let me approach the scene, I saw Brian lying on the concrete ground with blood soaking his shirt.
Victor was handcuffed nearby, shouting that everyone had betrayed him. Brian looked at me with fading focus.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice a whisper.
