Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 35044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Nic laughs. “You have one bullet, Roni, don’t waste it on me. Haven’t you already learned that you don’t have what it takes to kill me?”
“No,” I say with a pissed off grunt. “We learned that your reflexes are faster than mine, that’s all. I still pulled the trigger and had every intention of killing you.”
Nic laughs and turns his gaze to the man on his knees. “Why don’t you tell the pretty lady what it is that you did. Let her decide who should die today.”
The guy swallows, his eyes going wide as he glances at me like a threat. But when he doesn’t immediately start talking, Nic steps behind him and puts a knife to his throat … my fucking knife. “Talk,” Nic demands, pulling tight on his hold and letting the blade pierce his skin just enough to send a trickle of blood trailing down his throat.
The guy meets my eyes again, and I watch with disgust as a grin starts pulling at his lips, making my stomach twist with nausea. Fondness and laughter shine through his eyes as if reliving the memories of whatever horrendous thing he did turns him on. “I killed them,” he says, his voice low and menacing, a sound that will haunt me for the rest of my days. “I killed every last one of them but saved the little bitch for last, and while she screamed for help, begged for her dead mommy to come and rescue her, I fucked her, right in her bed with my hands around her throat, watching the life drain out of her.”
I take a step closer, and not giving a shit that Nic stands right behind him, I pull the fucking trigger and send the bastard straight to hell.
CHAPTER 6
RONI
Blood splatters over my face and shirt and I stare at the man in horror. I watch, almost in slow motion, as his body is rocked back from the force of the bullet, landing on the dirty ground with a heavy thump.
I scream, my eyes wide and filled with disgust as Nic takes a step back, blood soaking his clothes.
What did I just do?
My eyes drop to the dead man’s face. I just killed him; I shot him and took his life.
I’m a murderer. Cold-blooded murderer.
I run.
I sprint toward the bunker, barging through the metal door as the sound of it rebounding off the wall echoes through my head like a sharp sting, or maybe I’m just hearing the gunshot on repeat.
I race through to the small bathroom and instantly meet my reflection in the shitty, cracked mirror above the sink. I look like a complete stranger. My eyes are wide, and the blood splattered over my face and clothes are a constant reminder of what I just did.
My hands curl around the fabric of my shirt, and I tear it over my head before viciously throwing it into the corner of the bathroom. I turn on the tap and instantly shove my hands under the stream of water, desperate to get rid of the blood. I pool water in my hands and lean over before splashing it over my face and scrubbing hard, unable to gain control of my rapid breathing.
What the hell have I just become? Maybe I’m more like my father and brother than I ever thought. Should I be crying? Why am I not crying? I should be disgusted with myself. I should be breaking down and hating what I did, but I can’t.
I killed a man, and it felt amazing.
He deserved to die, and holding that gun gave me more power than any woman or man should ever be entitled to. Pulling that trigger and knowing I was the one responsible for sending his sick, twisted ass to the deepest pits of hell … fuck. The way he smirked and looked as though he was proud of what he did made me sick. Not to mention that the girl he was talking about … he didn’t say her age, but it was clear that she was just a child.
Shit, I need to go back and make sure the fucker is dead. I need to shoot him again. I need a fucking ax and a crowbar. Only the sound of his bones crushing beneath my force will make me feel better now.
Nic was right all this time. I have darkness inside me, and now that I’ve let it out, I’m not sure I'll be able to reel it back in. I should be better—stronger. Fuck it, I don’t even care if that gets me locked up for life. I will happily hand myself over.
Another gunshot rings out through the warehouse, and I jump at the sound, glancing back up in the mirror only to see the smeared blood over my face. I stare at myself. I should be ashamed, but I feel empowered. I feel alive. I feel ready to hail havoc down over anyone who has ever done me wrong.