And then she heard Paulie let out a loud, “Uhn!”—a cross between a strangled cry and an agonized grunt— and in that same awful, horror-filled instant saw the bright red point of the knife blade pop through the back of his shirt.

She screamed his name and rushed forward just as Mac was pushing Paulie off of him. She’d all but forgotten the dumbbell in her hand, but when she saw Mac getting up she let out a sound she’d never imagined she could make, a screech of rage and fear like a truck with bad brakes.

Mac looked up, and for an instant she cherished the look of sudden terror that filled his eyes when he saw her and realized what she had raised over her head.

He shouted, “No!” and tried to get a hand up but he was too late.

Poppy smashed him square between his cold, rotten little eyes with the end of the dumbbell, flattening his nose and spraying blood all over his face. His head slammed back against the floor and he didn’t move again.

Poppy immediately forgot about him and dropped the dumbbell. She turned to Paulie who was on his back now with the knife’s black handle sticking out of his stomach, right under the breast bone. His black shirt wasn’t showing the red of the blood, just looking blacker—and wet.

And he was all wet. His face was sugar white and, he looked like he was having trouble breathing and Poppy didn’t want to think it, didn’t want to believe it could happen, but she knew right then that her Paulie was dying.

“Paulie… ?” His eyes focused on her, then down to the handle sticking up from his shirt. His fingers trembled as he touched it. He tried a smile as he spoke in a wheezy whisper.

“It’s not as bad as it looks. I’ll be okay.”

Poppy tried to hold back the sobs but they broke through and she started crying. “Oh, Jesus, Paulie, it came out your back!”

He blinked. “It did? Oh.” He looked down at the handle and touched it again. “Help me get it out.”

“No! I can’t!”

“Poppy, it hurts so much. You gotta get it out. Please.”

“O-okay.” The last thing in the world she wanted to do was touch that handle, but if it was hurting Paulie…

She forced the fingers of both hands around the black plastic, squeezed tight, and gave a little pull.

Paulie stiffened and groaned.

“It’s stuck!” Her voice rose to a wail. “I can’t do this, Paulie!”

“It’s my only chance. Pull it out! Now!” Shaking, sobbing. Poppy tightened her grip and yanked the handle with everything she had. After some initial resistance, it suddenly came free and she almost fell backward.

When she straightened, Paulie was even whiter than before but smiling at her.

“Oh, that feels better.” But when Poppy looked at the wound she saw blood gurgling from the slit and running down Paulie’s sides.

Suddenly his whole body twitched and he looked at her. She could barely hear his voice.

“Maybe we should have left it in.”

And then he was gone. He didn’t move, didn’t make another sound; his eyes were still open and looking at her, but Paulie wasn’t there anymore.

No… that couldn’t be…

“Paulie?” she said. “Paulie?” Poppy dropped the knife and leaned toward him, arms out to hug him when something moved against her leg.

She turned. Mac was stirring. His nose was smashed to the side and he looked like he’d been hit in the face with a ripe tomato, but his eyelids were fluttering. He was coming to.

And right then Poppy knew she had to kill him. She couldn’t let the man who’d killed Paulie and wanted to kill Katie take another breath.

She looked around for her dumbbell and saw that it had rolled across the floor. She started to rise to retrieve it when she noticed the handle of the gun in Mac’s belt.

Yeah. With his own gun.

But as she began to pull it free, a hand grabbed her wrist.

Mac looked at her groggily. “No way, bitch.” Poppy got her other hand on the gun and yanked it free, but Mac still had hold of her wrist. And now he brought both of his hands into play, trying to twist it away from her. But Poppy wasn’t letting go. She knew her life and Katie’s depended on keeping it away from Mac.

Suddenly the gun went off and Poppy felt something whiz past her cheek. The sound was so deafening at such close range she jumped and almost lost her grip.

She glanced down and saw Mac’s finger against the trigger, then up to see him grinning at her, so sure he was going to win. Just to show him he wasn’t, Poppy gave the gun a vicious twist and it discharged again, the bullet nipping a lock of his hair as it went by.

Suddenly he wasn’t smiling. If he hadn’t just been coming out of being knocked cold, and if he hadn’t been struggling with someone who worked out a lot more than he did, he might have won already. But he was far from his peak and Poppy was right at hers, and she knew she had to get that gun fast before his bigger muscles and weight advantage wore her down.

She jammed her thumb inside the trigger guard, right on top of his, and pressed down hard while pushing the barrel toward him. Another shot, and this one nipped his shoulder before it smashed through the window. He winced and jumped as red began seeping through the hole in his shirt, and now his feet were kicking along the floor, looking for leverage against her. Poppy kept staring at him, not saying a word as they no longer fought for the gun, but for which way it would point, and he must have seen something in her eyes because now he was looking scared.

Finally his feet found something to push against and suddenly he was angling up, looking to topple her over and trap her under his weight. If he did that, he’d be in control. Poppy put all her strength into one last desperate twist of the barrel, lifting it and crunching down on the trigger.

The muzzle flash seared her chin as Mac gave a shout and lurched back with blood spurting from the right side of his head. His grip loosened and suddenly the gun was all Poppy’s.

She scrabbled backward on her free hand and feet and butt, and then sprawled there gasping, pointing the gun at him, ready to drill him again. But he didn’t move. He lay flat on his back, arms and legs splayed in all directions, his right eye all bloody, an expanding pool of red encircling his head.

Mac was dead. She’d killed a man, but that was okay. It wasn’t really a man—it was Mac. And he’d killed Paulie. And was gonna kill—

Katie!

Dimly, through the ringing in her ears, she became aware that a child was screaming. Poppy dropped the gun and ran into the guest room where she found her crouched white faced in a corner, hands over her ears, eyes squeezed shut, and her mouth wide open. She lifted Katie and held her trembling, quaking little body against her.

“It’s all right, baby,” she said, putting her lips against Katie’s ear and whispering. “It’s all right. It’s all over and no one’s gonna hurt you. Poppy’s gonna take care of you. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

Safe… Poppy realized that was the one thing they weren’t. How many times had the gun gone off? Three? Four? She couldn’t remember. But sure as hell someone was dialing 911 right now and saying Sylmar Street was turning into the OK Corral.

She had to get out of here.

But where to? She had no place to go. And she had no money. Paulie always took care of— Paulie! Oh, Jesus, poor Paulie was dead in the next room… She bit back a sob. She couldn’t think about that. She had to get Katie and herself to safety.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna move to a new place, a brand new place where nobody gets hurt. Okay? First thing you have to do is close your eyes.”

Katie didn’t say anything, but when Poppy looked, her eyes were closed. Maybe they’d been closed all along.

She carried her out through the living room, keeping her own eyes straight ahead and Katie’s turned away from the blood-splattered floor.