Page 96 of Wraith

For me, and for June.

I open the bathroom door quietly. Raise my gun. I can hear them to my right, down the carpeted hallway to the shut bedroom door.

This is it.

Open the door. Empty the clip. Solve our problems.

I move.

Finger curled, ready to pull the trigger. Heart thumping. Mind on my target.

My hand grips the door handle.

Inside, the sounds are sharper; the moans deeper, more intimate. I picture them entwined, holding tight to each other, feeling safe, happy, and I twist the handle. Slowly. The sounds continue unabated, and I picture the looks on their faces as they realize that their safety has been broken, that their lives are over.

Will they even have time to scream?

Will they beg for their lives?

Should I kill her first, to get her suffering over with?

Or should I kill her last, so she gets just a little longer to live?

The door opens.

I see two figures wrapped in covers on the bed, shrouded in blankets and shadows. Twisted, twined, thrusting, moving. I raise the gun. Take aim.

Click.

My heart drops.

I try again.

Click.

Three figures step out from the shadows, and laughter, low and dark, comes from beneath the blankets.

One figure comes to a stop in front of me. I don’t move. I try the trigger again — click.

A moonlit, wicked smile lights up his face. That’s all I need to see to recognize Midnight.

Behind me, I hear Moose’s voice. It drips with darkness and amusement.

“You’ll find it hard to fire a gun with no firing pin, Wraith.”

Midnight’s hand settles on my shoulder. Gentle. His smile stays the same: wide, bright, menacing.

“Take a seat, brother. It’s time to have a chat.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Wraith

Rope around my chest, my wrists, my legs; blood drips from a dozen places — my forehead, my cheek, my lips, my nose; when I breathe, it gurgles and rattles. My ribs are a cage of bruises and shattered bone.

Irons and Midnight and Moose take turns while the others watch and pass around a bottle of tequila.

They haven’t even started the questioning.