Page 112 of Trigger Happy Ending

The roar of the violence falls silent, although my ears still ring. Soren lowers me slowly to the floor as my eyes scan the body count. Five men. None of them are Derek.

Which means there's still work to do.

Somewhere above us, a door slams. The coward is running. Gun up, I take the steel stairs to the right two at a time, the metal clanging beneath my boots. All I can hear is the frantic scrape of footsteps overhead, the desperate sounds of a man who knows exactly what’s coming for him.

At the top of the mezzanine, a narrow hallway stretches ahead, with one door hanging half-open. The sound of desk drawers being opened and closed frantically has me kicking open the door hard enough to send it slamming into the wall.

And there he is.

Derek Warren. Hiding behind a desk like a pussy. Sweat slicks his forehead, his hands shaking so badly he can barely load the magazine into his gun.

I step into the room slowly, my gun trained right at his face.

“Surprise, asshole.”

His eyes flash up to mine, bloodshot and unhinged, surprised to hear the voice clad in black belongs to a female. He opens his mouth, but I don’t give him a chance to speak before I shoot him in the knee. The bullet rips through his kneecap, causing him to fall back into the tattered chair behind him. He cries out in pure agony. Having your kneecap blown apart will do that to a man.

Soren appears in the doorway behind me, rifle slung, pistol in hand, watching in silence. He knows this moment, this death, belongs to me.

Derek’s eyes move between us. “Who the fuck are you? What do you want?”

I peel off my mask and step forward. “Remember me?”

Recognition slams into him like a fist to the face. “You?”

“Me.” I smile in the most psychotic way possible.

“What do you want?” Derek screeches out through gritted teeth. "Money?"

Before he can blink, I raise the gun and fire into his other kneecap.

The second scream is worse. It rips through the room and bounces off the steel and concrete below. Derek collapses fully now, both legs gone useless, his body folding in on itself as he writhes on the floor, choking on the pain.

I love this, you know. Taking sweet, bloody revenge on asshole men.

I stand over him and he looks up at me, still confused.

"You think I want money?"

Derek gasps for breath as he languishes in his deserved pain.

I squat down and look directly into his eyes.

“Don't you know who I am? I've been sent from god.”

Derek sucks in deep breaths as he grabs at his knees. "What?"

"I'm a messenger. I have a message for you."

His eyes squeeze together, mustering the energy to mumble, “Yeah, and what’s that?”

I want him to look at me, so I wait a few moments until he opens his watery, bloodshot eyes. I'm looking forward to seeing his pupils dilate, his face morph when he hears what I have to say.

“Cherry says rot in pieces, asshole.”

I was right. His face contorts into horror at the mention of Cherry’s name.

I grab a fistful of his leather cut and haul him toward the door. He's heavy, but I'm capable of dragging his meaty ass out. Soren steps aside and watches as Derek claws at the floor. Smears of blood stain the ground, but he can’t stop me. Not with both knees blown to hell. I drag him out onto the mezzanine and slam him up against the railing. His chin tilts downwards on his chest, drooling in pain, but not before he gets an eyeful of the carnage below. Beneath us, the warehouse floor is littered with the bodies of his abusive crew.