{KKAYLA}"Nate."
No matter what people think of me and the reputation I've always upheld, I am not ashamed to say I have never been so terrified in my life.
And it's not because Nathan White is sitting at my kitchen table, a gun right in front of him and two arms crossed over his chest. It's not because the gun is placed in a precise way, so that he could quickly pick it up and point it at my mother if she moved from her position opposite him.
It's not even because I shot him, aimed to kill, and that he is now back very much alive. I'm not worried for myself.
I'm worried for my two daughters coloring in the room next to us. About what he's capable of doing to them.
"Nate," I repeat, swallowing thickly. "We can talk."
