Page 128 of Pucked Around and Found Out

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The gun in my hand is empty now.

Useless.

I crawl toward the stove, keeping low to the ground and searching for another weapon.

My hand finds a cast iron pot.

Heavy. Solid.

It may not be a gun or a knife but it’s all I got and I’ll fight with everything I have to survive.

Fiona rounds the island, gun aimed at me. Our eyes lock and I feel the same shift inside me that I did a moment ago with Masen, I allow the cold feeling of the darkness to seep through me, it flows through my veins like liquid. I cling to it and embrace the numbness it offers. I see now why Xaden gave into this feeling.

It’s addictive and empowering.

The draw of the power is alluring, the numbness consumes me and shuts down the fear that was pulsing through me mere seconds ago. My mind is clear, sharp and I’m poised and ready to strike when the opportunity presents itself.

“Nowhere left to run,” she says. “All your father and Lorenzo had to do was follow my orders, do as they were told, but they couldn’t even kill their own fucking sons! Men are useless. All that fucking accident did was make my life harder, I was so close to getting that murdering bastard Alex.”

I wait until she's close enough allowing her to get lost in her spiel about Alex. I grit my teeth to keep silent.

“I had to put my own plans on hold to clean up the fucking mess those idiots and Xaden made. Steven should have left you to rot in that place, your presence back here ruined everything. I lost my informants. Xaden got worse⁠—”

Now!

The voice inside my head screams, I swing the pot with everything I have when she is in reach.

It connects with her wrist and the gun goes flying.

Fiona curses and lunges at me.

We crash to the floor together, both fighting for dominance.

She's trained. Professional. Strong.

But I'm desperate.

And desperation makes you dangerous and unhinged.

I claw at her face, going for her eyes and attempting to push my thumbs into her sockets.

She blocks and drives her fist into my ribs.

I cry out as pain explodes through my side, but I don't stop.

Can't stop.

I grab her hair and slam her head against the marble floor. She swings her arms aimlessly, she manages to land a couple of blows. I feel nothing as the monster inside me blocks everything out. I keep slamming her head into the marble until she goes limp beneath me.

I stare down at her and slowly the darkness and bloodlust begins to recede and panic overwhelms me.

She’s the fucking Deputy Director of the CIA! It doesn’t matter if she was dirty or not, the whole department will come after me and ensure I rot behind bars if I have killed her.

I put two fingers against her throat, feeling for a pulse. She’s not dead, I can see her chest rising and falling.

But unconscious.