Death

“Don’t move.”

Savannah turned her head. Reginald had taken the gun from his mistress and pointed it right at her stomach. The sound of Rachel’s laughter faded into the wind, the sand blowing into her nostrils and face as she stared down the barrel of a gun. Terror made her cold and sweaty, but shame made her stomach split open. Of course this was going to happen. Who the hell did she think she was? She was Savannah Cruz, the cursed girl who caused her mother’s death, who brings bad luck to everything—all she had to do was just look at it. a jinx. A failure. ugly and pathetic.

And with that gun glinting before her eyes, she knew running away was the biggest mistake of her life.

“Let’s go,” Reginald said through gritted teeth, nodding at some shank housing that shone in the distance.

Her legs almost refused to work, wobbling so hard that they barely moved forward. Fear consumed every molecule of her system and truthfully, her mind wasn’t working fast enough through the terror to think