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I already knew what I would do. I would take his gun peeking out of his jacket and blow his brains out right then and there.
Consequences be damned.
My hand crept closer to his belt, waiting for the moment to pull out the weapon.
He turned to face me and said, softly. “Bella's killer is Francis Salford.”
I do not look back after the hotel vanishes behind the bend of the coastal road. The Gulf Shores night slides past the …
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