His gaze was lowered as his hands twisted a silencer onto the barrel of a gun. My throat tightened, and panic bit at my veins. He looked up. His eyes were cold enough to give me frostbite. “No,” I breathed. But it was too late. He pushed the door open, and his lazy, heartless gaze found Charming. A muffled pop hit my ears. Blood splattered across the counter and cupboards. White powder dusted into the air as Charming hit the floor, cloudy blue eyes wide open, a bullet hole in his forehead.
