Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
He fired first.
“Fuck!” By some miracle, I ducked.
The bullet whizzed past my ear.
My brother, Dax “Asus” Killian, stood up, pumping his shotgun to fire again.
Too late.
I didn’t bother aiming, just pulled the trigger. I didn’t have time to make peace, or find an ending. The gun bucked in my hands, almost as if it knew this kill was different. This was the one I wanted more than anything.
“Motherfucker!” He collapsed sideways.
The bullet struck his shoulder, slamming him against the wall. Blood smeared down the dirty surface as he groaned in pain. “You fucking asshole.”
Fumbling to get off another round, he folded forward on the toilet. “Fuck you! What do you think you’ll do? Just kill us all and won’t suffer any consequences?” He spat a wad of blood at my feet. “You’ll go back to jail. Where you belong!”
I’d planned on dragging out his pain. I’d wanted to tell him why this had to happen. Why he had to pay for his sins. But staring at his betraying face, the agony of my childhood took me hostage.
The manipulation. The low-handed tactics.
It was no longer relevant—just like him.
I couldn’t prolong it. I needed it over with.
“Just die, Dax.”
This mayhem wasn’t me. I wasn’t a murderer by choice but by life’s design. The sooner the past was in the past, the sooner I could throw down my weapon and live for the first time in eight long years.
His arm shook as he struggled to fire. “You first, brother.”
Raising my gun, I pulled the trigger.
No remorse. No flinch.
My own flesh and blood existed, then … didn’t. The hole in his forehead gushed with crimson as he slithered to the floor.
I waited to feel something. Anything.
He was my brother.
But there was only the glittering sensation of relief.
I’d turned my brother into a corpse and all I felt was solace. Endless solace to finally have payback. After what he and my father had done that night. After they’d drugged me, beat me, and made me believe I’d shot Thorn and Petal Price on my own accord—there was no other way this could’ve ended.
This was for her.
Grasshopper suddenly appeared. He favored his right side, holding two guns, fingers poised to shoot. His eyes darted into the single toilet. “Shit, you found him.”
I didn’t reply, only continued to stare at my dead relation.
He patted me on the back. “You did right, dude.”
His touch snapped me back to the present. Clearing my throat, I backed away, throwing away the semiautomatic. I’d run out of bullets but I had plenty of other alternatives. Fisting the pistol from my waistband, I nodded. “He had to die.”
Hopper’s gaze was fierce. He knew what this meant but he also knew I wouldn’t find complete redemption until my father was as dead as his firstborn son.
“Go,” I ordered. “It’s not over yet.”
“On it.” With a grin, he took off, charging down the dark, dusty corridor.
I looked left and right. Which way?
The screams and shots happened less and less. It’d been bloody and fast but the battle was almost over.
The adrenaline of war thrummed in my veins—not nearly satisfied. It’d been so long in coming but so short in ending.
Would I be happy with this? This quick conclusion after a decade of dreaming?
Turning left, I traipsed farther into hell. Rooms branched off like catacombs, all reeking of marijuana and sex. Cleanliness was nonexistent. The overall vibe derelict and sinful.
“Fuck, Mo!” Grasshopper’s voice rang out.
My lungs stuck together in terror. My boots thundered against the carpet as I charged in the direction Hopper had gone.
Skidding into the laundry, where rank clothes hung in mildew humidity, Grasshopper clutched Mo on the floor. The minute he saw me, he cocked his chin at the back door. “There. That fucker just shanked him.”
Leaving Mo in Hopper’s care, I stormed outside. My eyes narrowed on to a fleeing figure in the dark.
Oh, no, you don’t, you asshole.
My heart rate galloped but I forced my hand to steady. Closing one eye, I aimed at the traitor’s back.
He didn’t get far.
The shot rang out like a whip, ricocheting toward my victim. The bullet hit its target, halting him into death.
The moment he turned from running to face-planting into the toxic dirt, I forgot about him.
I didn’t check if he was dead.
Mo.
He was much more important.
Hurrying back inside, I ripped aside a few shirts from the indoor washing line and ducked to my haunches beside Grasshopper. “How is he?”
Hopper’s blue eyes glittered with rage. “Did you get him?”
I nodded.
Resting my hand on Mo’s head, I muttered, “You okay, man?”
Mo winced, sucking air through his teeth. “Been … bet-ter.” Black blood sopped his cut, puddling around Hopper like a morbid lake. “Ah, fuck it hurts.”
Shit.
The bastard had got him good. Liver or gut … either way … Mo had a date with a motherfucking angel tonight.