Page 105 of Hell Breaks Loose

Fast forward to the wedding, and I’m sitting second row wearing someone else’s face.

Wondering whether I accidentally gave Hellena the real drug instead of the placebo. She’s stricken. Glass-eyed and robotic.

Except for the way she grips her bouquet that makes me want to murder every fucking bastard in this disgusting venue. Which also happens to be the house I grew up in.

Talk about fuel for therapy.

Next thing I know, she’s on stage.

We’re ready to move.

Gavin’s waiting on my signal.

And Hell grabs Sing’s gun, aiming for Marco.

“There she is,” Marco snarls, his hand reaching back to stay the guards. All it would take is a split second, one itchy trigger finger on those automatic weapons, and the love of my life would be gone.

So I sit there like a fucking useless chump.

“You always were a fighter, Hellena. But I can see the drug winning. You can barely hold the gun,” he mocks, straightening and facing off against her.

Hellena bares her teeth, her body quivering.

What he sees as a battle against Devo, I see as a battle against herself.

“We both know you have it in you. After all, your last fiancé found out the hard way. But you aren’t going to kill me, girl. You can’t. Now point that gun at your own head and show these people what a good wife you’ll be!” His façade cracks, the wild, frantic anger spilling over as he aggressively jabs a finger at her.

The commotion in the crowd stills for a moment, everyone holding their breath, unsure of what to do.

Hellena’s hand twitches. Starts to pull back.

The barrel turns.

“Till death do us part, Hellena,” Marco shouts, a manic laughter in his words.

“Agreed,” she grits out, pointing the gun back toward him and pulling the trigger.

20

HELLENA

Bang.

That word doesn’t even come close to how loud the real thing is going off in your hand.

Or how hard the gun kicks.

Or how even the thought of using that tool of death has crippled me for the better part of eight years. Made me sick.

Maybe that’s why I miss.

His head, anyway. A spray of blood mists away from his shoulder as Marco jerks at the last second, lunging toward me, slamming one hand around my neck. At the same time, the audience erupts in commotion out of the corner of my eye.

More gunfire fills the air. Screams and shouts.

My wedding is under attack.

My wedding is under attack!

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