Time came to a halt so quickly and so violently, my lungs seemed to punch straight past my ribcage. The pockets of air that filled the room burst one by one, and suddenly there wasnothing, nothing to keep my exposed lungs from stalling.
The hatred I’d always possessed was a mere flick of emotion compared to the crushing disbelief I felt, tunneling through me like an untethered boulder.
Bile rose up my throat, and for a moment I sat paralyzed, staring down at my brother—a goddamn trafficker.
“You sick son of a bitch.” My gun slipped from my grasp, hitting the floor with a heavy, muted thud. Knuckles flexing, I reached forward and wrapped both hands around his throat, squeezing with a renowned kind of force—fueled by disgust, disappointment, and extreme hatred for the man that withered beneath me.
Ezra’s legs thrashed violently, his blood-stained hands tearing at my wrists in an ugly show of desperation. His lips were swollen, darkening in color as puffs of broken pleas escaped between them.
“Ben didn’t kill your father, Ezra.” My fingers were wet with his blood and the tears that leaked from his eyes. His throat spasmed beneath my grip, and the pulse point I held captive beneath my thumb weakened. “I did.I put a bullet straight between his eyes, and my only regret is that I can’t do it again and again and again.”
Boom.
White, hot pain tore through the thick muscle covering my thigh. My vision blurred, and I swayed against him, a grunt ripping through the tunnel of my throat. Head rolling, I captured the hazy sight of his fingers wrapped around the gun I abandoned.
“Da… Daddy?” Silas’ voice was a sharp, broken sound that felt miles away. The evidence of his fear was as unmistakable and potent as ever, cutting through my chest like a hot blade. “Daddy, please, answer me!”
Reassurance was on the tip of my tongue but it left me as quick as oxygen did when Ezra flipped us, slamming me into the carpet with a feral shout and wild eyes. My lungs seized, a pathetic gasp sputtering from between my lips.
Spots danced along the outer edges of my eyes, and I felt them start to roll backward when Ezra wedged his knee at the base of my throat.
“There’s something kind of poetic about this moment, isn't there?” Ezra chuckled, choking on the harsh, choppy sound. The tip of the gun was cool as it met my cheek, and I waited while he used my weapon to paint pictures in my blood. “I’m going to kill you with your own gun, and then I’m going to dig the bullet you bought for me out of your torn up flesh and send it straight to your stalker boyfriend.”
Silas made a wrecked sound. “Daddy, you promised you wouldn’t die!”
Across my cheek, and over the bridge of my nose, the tip of my gun was icy as it slipped against my skin. It came to a halt in the narrow space just between my eyebrows, and I felt the familiar sting of metal when Ezra increased the pressure of his hold, shoving the barrel into my skin as though he was trying to brand me with it.
My hands quaked at my sides, my eyes refocusing, honing directly on the trigger. His finger danced against that curved edge, and just before he pulled it, I pounced.
Hands flying upward, I wrapped them around my gun with a pained groan and a surge of adrenaline. The muscles in my biceps strained with the effort, and I felt the cords in my neck tighten as I twisted the gun, changing targets faster than my muddy brain could comprehend.
Boom.
The bullet left the chamber, slicing through Ezra’s throat faster than a blink. The familiar smell of gunpowder danced beneath my nostrils, and I stared up at my brother, watching mutely as life drained from his eyes one by one. His mouth was still open, forever frozen in a silent scream when his soul fled his body as quickly as blood gushed out of it. Chest heaving for the last time, his shoulders slumped forward, and he fell to heap beside me.
Finally.
I gasped, pulling air into my lungs with crooked, broken exhales. Jaw clenched, I rooted my palms in the carpet and heaved upward into a seated position. My head throbbed with the effort, my vision scarcely close to being non-existent as I struggled to assess my injuries. Saturating the carpet beneath my leg was a pool of my blood, leaking steadily from a hole in the side of my thigh.
“Daddy!” Silas cried, choking. “Daddy, you better not be dead!”
“Baby.” Another breath left me, and I struggled to sound unaffected and calm. “I’m not dead.”
My fingers shook as I reached for my belt. Blood coated the shiny leather while I fumbled with the buckle, struggling to unlatch it. With clenched teeth and a rough tug, I pulled it free of my belt loops and wrapped it around the base of my thigh, tightening it as much as my muscles allowed.
The pain made me dizzy, and I let my head roll, falling heavily against the wall behind it. “Silas, baby.” I cleared my throat. “Ezra’s dead. Do you know what to do now?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good.” My eyelids were weighted, and my tongue felt heavy in my mouth as I struggled to keep speaking. “He shot me… in the thigh. I’ve lost a lot of blood, Kitten, but I’m… I’m not going to die. Not today.”
“I’m sending help, Daddy!”
I felt a smile curve up my cheeks. “I know you are, baby. I’m going to pass out soon, and I… I know you’re scared… but do me a favor, yeah?”
He was sobbing, but I latched on to the broken, beautiful sound. “Anything, Daddy.”
“Don’t hurt my baby.” I whispered…