Page 77 of XO Karma

“Oww,” I groan, scrambling out of the frame, ignoring the small shards that have wedged themselves in my skin. He reaches for his waistband, and I cock my arm, hurling my dagger. It slices through the air and lands directly in his shoulder.

“Shit!” he shouts along with a few other expletives as he pulls it out and throws it to the ground. I sprint across the room as he removes his gun from his waistband and points it towards me. I shove my palm against the side of the barrel and away from my face, and a shot goes off, shattering a vase.

My heart pounds. Don’t let him get to his gun. That was the number one rule.

Regret fills my gut. Aster was right. He shouldn’t have stayed behind. He could have donned a disguise like me. It’s just a bit hard to disguise a 6’5 behemoth of a man covered in tattoos. And we needed Vetrel to be off his guard. Also, I’m full of pride and spite.

In a blink, his gun digs into my forehead, and my heart stops.

“On the ground,” he instructs, and when my knees hit the floor, he laughs. “Knew I’d get you here. Just thought you’d do it willingly. I should make you suck my cock for being such a nasty bitch.” Bile mixed with rage rises in my throat.

“I’d rather bite it off.”

He pistol whips me, searing pain erupting in my jaw. I collect the blood mixed with saliva in my mouth and spit on his suede shoes.

“You seem to have lost that accent, Daisy.” He returns the barrel to my forehead as he slides his fingers into my faux hair. Soreness erupts across my scalp as he snatches the wig, ripping out the bobby pins holding it in place.

The cold metal leaves an imprint in my skin, and I hope he doesn’t blow my head off as I squeeze my eyes shut and consider my very limited options.

Number one: death.

Yeah, forget that.

Number two: pretend this is all a ruse and I like it rough.

I think I’d prefer death.

Number three: get his gun.

That is the best but most unrealistic option.

“Who do you work for?” he asks, kicking me in the stomach, and I grunt, trying not to vomit.

“I’m self-employed,” I cough out, forcing my body to fight the trembles threatening to break free. The only thing worse than being put in this position is to appear weak or afraid. That’s why I channel every emotion inside me into pure, unabashed rage.

“He sent you, didn’t he?” Vetrel growls. Who is he? “I told him I’d come up with the money.”

“Who?” I ask, and his eyes narrow.

A loud knock comes at the door, and Vetrel glances towards it. Refusing to waste his momentary distraction, I dodge the gun, then whack my palm against the barrel, knocking it out of his hands. It scatters across the floor, and I rush towards it.

His foot hooks my ankle, and I trip, landing flat on the ground with a thud, a sharp sting ricocheting against my ribs as I gasp for air. He grips my boot, dragging me backwards, and I claw against the floor for anything to hold on to. My foot slips out of the shoe, and he stumbles, dropping the boot, giving me a moment to scramble towards the gun.

Once the metal’s securely in my hand, I rush to stand, spinning around to the sight of him reaching towards his desk. I pull the trigger, and a bullet zooms past his pinky finger to hit a folder, and papers fly around the room.

“What the bloody fuck do you want?” he shrieks, throwing his hands in the air as another loud knock comes at the door, and I rush towards him.

“Everything okay in there, boss?” a muffled voice asks as the handle jiggles, unable to budge since Freddy here locked us in when we arrived.

Once directly before him, I position the barrel inches from his face and say, “Talk and you die.” He opens his mouth, and I shove the barrel inside it, causing his eyes to twitch in anger. Power surges through me, and my lip twitches upwards. This is gonna be fun. Vetrel’s expression turns to surprise as my moaning screams flood the room. “Oh, yeah, baby, harder!” Hopefully the sex sounds will be enough to scare the security guards away. “Fuck yeah, I like it rough!” Removing the pistol from his pie hole, he gasps as I step backwards, my aim still locked on him. “Oh! I love men with tiny dicks, YES!” His face reddens, and I grab a glass sculpture on a nearby table. “This looks expensive.”

“Don’t you dare,” he snarls, lip twitching in anger.

“Oh, yeah!” I throw it against the wall in a shatter. I’m feeling a little—a lot—unhinged, and I must admit… I like it. Coming to a pause behind him, I lower my mouth to his ear. “Ask me to spank you like a bad boy.”

“No,” he scoffs in disbelief, and I grip his hair, tugging it against my stomach, then put the gun to his temple. His jaw hardens, and he grits out, “Spank me.”

“Louder!” I sing, shaking his head like a puppet. “And the full sentence.”