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Patrick slammed on the brakes. "What the HELL?!" he screamed when it all came into focus. He'd been in a fog for months, but he had decided to lay off the booze the night before, and the past few months came back to him. He'd been drinking blood and living with a killer? What was wrong with him? He couldn't remember what it was about carmine what had drawn him in so deeply. Maybe he was soft in the head; maybe his dad had been right. Plus, Carmine sounded less like a woman's name and more like an Italian mobster.
He heard a pop and stared in confusion for a fraction of a second at the hole and sudden spray of red that appeared on his windshield, then slumped forward against the steering wheel.
Carmine looked up from the scope on her rifle. She figured it was only a matter of time before Patrick woke up. She sighed, trying to swallow her disappointment.
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