Page 118 of Kingmakers, Graduation

Too bad, ‘cause Adrik made good on our bet—he bought me a P30L with a custom compensator, which really is the handgun from the first John Wick movie. I’d love to blow Zigor’s mind by telling him that Keanu Reeves gave it to me.

Ignoring Jasper, Zigor snaps open the drum of his revolver, letting the bullets fall to the floorboards one by one until only a single .38 remains. He spins the drum, flicking it back in place.

“You know this game?” Zigor says. “Very famous.”

“Oh yeah,” I say blandly. “Mongolian roulette.”

“You know is Russian game!” Zigor shouts. “You make me angry with these jokes—Mongolian!Pah!”

He spits on the floorboards.

“Put itaway,”Jasper hisses. He’s still seated, but his body is stiff, turned toward Zigor now, his lips as white as his skin.

The Bookends are barely paying attention, still absorbed in their game. I doubt this is the first time Zigor’s gotten high and pulled out his revolver.

Zigor points the gun at me.

“Simple rules. We pull trigger once each. God will decide who is good and who has been naughty.”

Jasper’s fingers dig into his thighs. He’s so tense he’s almost shaking.

“Quit fucking around,” he barks.

Zigor swings the gun around so it’s pointing at Jasper instead. He takes a few steps forward, closing the gap between them.

“You want go first, Jasper? Better odds.”

“Don’t even fucking think about?—”

Jasper is cut off by the distinct click of Zigor pulling the trigger. Nothing happens—the chamber is empty. But Jasper leaps to his feet with a howl of rage, snatching the gun out of Zigor’s hand and pointing it right in his face.

“YOU THINK THAT’S FUNNY?” he shrieks. “WHAT WERE YOU GONNA DO IF IT WENT OFF?”

Without thinking, perhaps without even meaning to do it, Jasper’s finger jerks on the trigger.

Instead of the same empty click, the gun fires.

A small, dark hole appears in the center of Zigor’s forehead. Zigor’s expression is one of pure astonishment, mirrored in Jasper’s shocked face. He falls backward, crashing to the floorboards with a thud that shakes the shack.

The two Bookends look up, mouths open in surprise.

I rip my gun from my waistband and shoot them each in the head, one after the other.

Zigor’s bodyguards topple off their buckets, their playing cards scattering across the floor in a flurry of hearts and spades, clubs and diamonds.

Jasper turns to me, paler than paper, mouth open in shock. “WHAT THE FUCK?”

“What the fuck YOU what the fuck!” I shout back at him.

We’re both frozen in place, staring at the carnage around us. In less than twenty seconds we went from utter boredom to three men dead on the floor, blood slowly spreading outward in bright halos from the holes in their heads.

“This is so fucking bad,” Jasper says. “Why’d you shoot the other two?”

“ ‘Cause they would have put ten bullets in your chest and brought your head back to Lev. And if I didn’t let them do that, they’d sure as fuck rat you out.”

Jasper stares at the fallen bodyguards, absorbing the truth of this.

“You’re right,” he says at last. And then a moment later, very quietly … “Thank you.”

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