"Who are you?" the man asked weakly as he shook in fear. "I'm Quin Palmer," I said. I raised my gun and let the bullet shoot through his head. He fell to the floor, bloody and dead. "And I'm trained to kill."
I sat in the waiting room looking at the ground. Blood on my hands and shirt. Her blood on my hands and shirt. I can't believe she took a bullet for me. She really took a bullet for me.
I'd take a bullet for you, George Ragan.