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I open the door a little, then keep my right arm pressed to my stomach with the gun tucked under my left. “Please... Don’t do this...” I moan like I’m injured. I raise my right foot and step out, planting it firmly on the ground. “Please, Dominic. I think he’s dead.”
“Boo-fucking-hoo,” he retorts. “That’s the entire point. If you get out of the car like a good girl and don’t fight, I won’t have to hurt you. But if you pull the shit you did back at the basement compound with that knife, I can’t make any promises.”
“I’m coming. Just, please, don’t hurt me.” I climb out slowly, my body hunched over and my once racing heart now beating normally. There’s no fear. No doubt. Only the certainty of what needs to be done. He must die.
“Look at you. Not so brave now, are you? No knife for you to pull on me, huh?”
“You knew this is what would happen, didn’t you? It was your plan all along.” I don’t know why I ask the question. It’s not going to change anything but it will confirm how fucked up he is, and give me another reason to blow him away.
“Your precious Callum likes to play dirty. Well, we can play dirty, too. My father told me what he would do, because he’s so fucking predictable. Create a distraction, a way to split everyone up. It’s the oldest trick in the book, and he ate that shit right out of my hand. All he cared about was getting his precious Bianca out of harm’s way. Funny enough, he sent you right into it. It’s a shame he won’t get a second chance at being a father.``
I turn to him slowly, ensuring he’s close enough for a clean shot. The last thing I want is for the bullet to miss him. I don’t know if I’ll get another chance. Straightening my spine, I lift the gun and point it directly at his chest. I don’t say a word. I only take a moment to savor the smug expression he wears.
“What do you think you’re going to do with that?” he laughs.
“I’m going to make certain you never fuck with me or my family again. I’m going to end your life.” Everything happens in slow motion. The look of shock on his face, the step he takes towards me, his body hunching over and reaching for the gun. I release all the air in my lungs and squeeze the trigger.
My fingers squeeze the trigger and the smell of gunpowder fills my nostrils. The bullet zips through the air, hitting its mark. The center of his chest. He stumbles back with a strangled cry before landing on his ass. “My father will kill you for this. You’re all dead.” He scrambles backwards on his hands, while I slowly advance on him.
What kind of person does it make me to be able to watch him die? To see the light slowly seep out of him.
He gasps, flopping around on the ground like a fish out of water. I wonder how he likes it? Drowning on his own blood. What a shame his death couldn’t be more drawn out.
We’ve taken too many chances with these monsters. We’ve left them too much room to come back at us again and again. I’m not doing that anymore. And that thought is what has me taking aim a second time. My story won’t end the way my mother’s did. I pull the trigger, my mind numb and my sole focus on my target. Another bullet lodges itself in his chest and I look from his face to the advancing headlights that sweep across my body.
Relief washes over me as I watch him take his final breath.Dead. He’ll never hurt anyone I love again.I raise my left arm to shield my eyes, and all at once, reality comes rushing back.
I killed a man. I killed him.
What if I can’t prove it was self-defense?
“Bianca!” I’ve never heard anything sweeter than the sound of Callum’s voice calling my name. He stops the car and flings the door open, running to me with his arms outstretched. When I’m finally wrapped in his embrace, I melt against him and let everything else fade away. I killed someone. I should feel shame, or guilt, but neither of those emotions come.
All I feel is relieved.
“He’s dead,” I whisper, almost in disbelief. “He’s dead and I killed him. I killed him. He’s dead.” My teeth chatter and suddenly I’m so damn cold.
“Shh, little bird. I know. It’s okay. You did what you needed to do. You protected yourself.”
“…Bianca?” Dad’s voice—soft, groggy—sounds from inside the car. He’s alive. He’ll be okay.
I’m so thankful he’s alive. We both made it. My knees buckle and I end up on the ground, sobbing while Callum holds me.
Everything’s going to be okay. I just know it.
CALLUM
There is no sense of peace in the house. No hope of calm. Not while it’s crawling with guards at all hours. Not with Jack out there somewhere, plotting how he’s going to blow my world to pieces for taking his son’s life.
I sent Romero home an hour ago against his wishes. He needs sleep–we both do, but I can’t imagine willing my mind to quiet down long enough for sleep to catch up to me. I would only toss and turn and wake Bianca. One of us needs to be sharp, meaning he needs a break while I pace my office or check in with the guards down at the front gate walking the perimeter. Watching. Waiting.
If this goes on much longer, I don’t know how my nerves will stand it. A man in my position can expect to spend sleepless nights. I’ve lived with strain, stress, tension, to the point where I thought I was impervious. But this? Everything that’s ever mattered is at stake, and at the moment, I can’t do anything but wait for Jack to show his face. Romero’s exhausted his extensive contact list. We have guys combing every square mile between this compound and the property Jack’s been living and working out of. We even have eyes on his Miami residence in case he flew down there to regroup.
Where is he? What’s his next move?
A whiskey might dull the incessant pounding in my head, but I can’t risk dulling my senses. I can only grind my teeth and push through, ignoring the bar cart while I pace for lack of anything else to do. Patience has never been one of my virtues.
The ringing of my phone pierces the silence. I pounce on it, snatching it from the desk. The sight of Sebastian’s name, especially at two in the morning, takes my already rapid pulse and sends it into overdrive.
