“Now!” my boyfriend roars, pulling the gun from the back of his jeans and pointing it at Gabriel’s face.
“I don’t need him to apologize,” I shoot out, before Atlas has fired his shot. “Could you pass me the duffel bag?”
His Glock stays pointed at the target. My boyfriend doesn’t seem to care that I don’t seek apologies. I think he’s the one who needs to hear it.
“I’m sorry,” Gabriel grits through bared teeth.
“Coming right away, love,” Atlas says, heading for the bag and fetching it for me.
Taking it from his hands, I halt, realizing that I’m in a room full of people, who I’ve dragged down into my drama. Looking back at the table, so many sets of eyes are closely following my every move.
“Sorry for bringing you into my mess. This, here, doesn’t concern you, so you should leave.” My words are pointed at all of them.
“You’re family. It concerns us,” Carter points out.
“None of us are leaving,” Dean adds.
Connor and Link offer reassuring nods, visibly sharing the same sentiment. Having their support warms my heart.
But Jacob surely doesn’t want to be here for this part.
“Jacob, you—”
“I’m not leaving either. You could’ve shot me to save yourself. I owe you.”
“You owe me nothing. There’s a car at the back entrance. You can get away with it.”
“And miss the show? I’m not going anywhere. Go on! Don’t stop on my behalf.”
Keeping the gun trained on Gabriel, I set the duffel on the side counter and rummage through it. When I pull out a staple gun, Atlas looks at me like I’ve just yanked a rabbit out of a hat. I toss it toGabriel, who catches it, though his brain clearly hasn’t caught up with its purpose yet, confusion swirling in his eyes.
“Shut your mouth with it,” I command.
His eye twitches.
“Come on, Gabriel! Didn’t we agree about me not repeating a request? Either you shut yourself with the staple gun, or I’ll shut you up with a bullet. How do you like your options?”
Gabriel takes the staple gun, pressing it against the corner of his mouth.
Clack!
A muffled groan comes out of him.
Clack!
He does his best to hold the sounds that the pain coerces out of him.
Clack!
When he’s all done, my face lights up at the sight of what I now consider to be my new favorite way of silencing someone. Judging by my boyfriend’s smirk—his too.
“Kneel!”
Of course, he doesn’t obey.
I lower the gun abruptly and blow out his kneecap with a single shot, making Gabriel fall to the ground. His cries are muffled by his stapled mouth, but the pain is so very audible in them.
Shortening the distance, I wait long enough for those stifled grunts to die out, while a tremor runs through my hand that’s holding the gun, as if Milo himself is causing it, pushing me into pulling the trigger.
