Page 109 of Hell Breaks Loose

“I won’t! I’d rather die!” Marco screams, fighting against whatever is happening inside his body.

“You won’t die. But you’ll wish you had. When you sit at my feet and make call after call, ordering your dealers and gunrunners in every city to swear themselves to me.”

Stumbling over the runner, I fall back, hitting the stage hard.

I need to do something. Anything.

Stop her. Run.

But I’m frozen to the spot.

Marco’s seizure stills, his chest heaving.

I see the battle in his eyes still. His clenched teeth. But he’s losing.

“Should I order him to kill himself for the cause, Angel?” Rachelle croons, circling the statue that is Evan. He barely responds, tilting his head as his empty eyes watch Marco wheezing at his feet.

“Whatever you think is best, Matron.”

“You hate him, don’t you?”

“I do,” he says in monotone.

“Do you know why?”

“No.”

“See, Marco? You won’t lose everything about yourself. Just the ability to make decisions. Of course, Angel is a bit different. He doesn’t remember anything. You will. And you won’t be able to do a thing about it.”

“F–Fuck you,” he gurgles.

“Stop talking.” She leans down, getting in his face. “Stop fighting.”

He goes still, barely shaking.

I’m going to be sick. It’s one thing to see the end result, the psychos who were already addicted to meth or crack or heroine before this all started. But to see someone lose themselves…

Someone I know.

Even someone as heinous as Marco.

It’s just… evil.

“Kill me!” he grits out, his eyes rolling, twitching my way.

“You’d look to her for mercy, Marco? After what you did to her?”

“P–Please… Hellena…”

His eyes track the floor, to a gun sitting just out of his reach. Right near my foot.

Fingers on his hand that still work, the one not covered in blood from the gunshot wound, splay, reaching for me. Reaching for help.

My breath catches as my leg kicks out.

Like I'm not in control of my own muscles.

The gun skids into his reach.

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