I grit my teeth, aiming at his face before lowering the barrel just slightly. “No, I’m not like you.” I fire, the shot cracking through the room. His cuffs snap apart, the chain breaking. The smirk is gone now, his face pale as he looks down at his freed wrists.
He flexes his hands, rolling his shoulders like he's getting ready for a fight. “Oh, I see now. You want this up close and personal.” He stands, towering over me now, and the room feelsten times smaller. “This is what you wanted, right? A real fight? You think you can beat me?”
I step back, gripping the gun tighter. He’s free now, and I feel the shift in the room. I wanted this. I wanted him to feel fear, but now that he’s standing there, all those years of being scared of him come rushing back. But fuck that. I can’t let him win.
“Come on, little girl,” he taunts, stepping closer. “Show me what you’ve got. Show me you’re not as weak as they were. Fight me, or I’ll make sure your last moments are as painful as theirs.”
“Fuck you,” I spit, raising the gun again.
His hand knocks the gun out of mine, the clatter echoing as it skids across the floor. My heart slams against my ribs as the adrenaline starts roaring in my veins. I don’t even think—I swing my fist, hard, and it connects with his jaw. His head snaps to the side, and I stagger back.
He wipes the blood from his lip with the back of his hand and smirks. “That’s the only one you’ll land.”
“We’ll see about that,” I growl, my fists clenching tighter.
Then his fist comes flying. I barely see it before it slams into my face, sending me stumbling back. My knees buckle and I hit the ground hard. He’s on me in seconds, straddling me, his fists raining down like fucking hammers. My head snaps back with each hit. Pain explodes across my cheek, my lip, my nose. I taste blood.
“Still think you’re tough?” he sneers, driving his fist into my ribs again.
Fuck. I can barely breathe. My vision swims, but I force myself to focus. I hook my legs around his waist, twisting hard, using his weight against him. He doesn’t see it coming. His balance shifts, and I roll us over. Now I’m on top.
I slam my fist into his face. Once. Twice. The crack of bone under my knuckles is sickening, but I don’t stop. “This is for Isla,” I spit, hitting him again, my fist landing square on hisjaw. He groans, but I’m not finished. “This is for my mom.” My knuckles find his nose this time, the blood pouring from it in thick, red streams.
I barely register the sharp pain in my side until it’s too late. He’s grabbed the broken handcuff from the floor, and the jagged metal digs into the flesh above my scar. I scream, jerking away from him, clutching my side as blood seeps through my fingers.
Victor's eyes gleam with satisfaction as he pulls himself up, blood trickling from his split lip. “You think you can beat me?” he sneers, kicking at my side.
I try to get to my feet, but the pain has me curling up.
He crouches next to me, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at him. “What are you fighting for? You can't have kids. You're worth nothing. No one wants a broken little bitch like you.”
His words hit harder than any punch. I freeze for a moment, my mind going blank. All the years of pain, all the lies I’ve told myself to stay sane—they come crashing down in that moment. But I force the bile back down, force myself to move because I’m not done yet.
He lunges, his hands wrapping around my throat before I can fully react. I choke on the sudden pressure, my hands flying to his wrists to pry them off. My nails dig into his skin, but he squeezes harder.
“Do you know what’s really sad?” he says. “Your FBI lover? He’s going to move on. He’ll find someone who can give him what you never could. A family. A real life. Someone who’s not damaged beyond repair.”
The room’s spinning. Black spots start consuming my vision. My legs flail in search of leverage, but he has the upper hand. I’m losing.
Just when I think I’m done for, I hear it. A sound—something shifting in the room. Both our heads snap toward the sourceof the noise. He loosens his grip just enough for me to suck in a ragged breath. I take the opportunity, using the last bit of strength I’ve got to shove my knee into his groin as hard as I fucking can.
He grunts in pain, doubling over, and I don’t waste any time. I scramble to my feet and kick him hard in the ribs, sending him sprawling back. His face twists in agony, and I move fast, grabbing the gun off the floor.
Blood trickles down my cheek from the cut above my eyebrow, but I wipe it away with the back of my hand. “Game over.”
He growls, trying to get back up, but I’m done with his shit. When he lunges at me, I step forward and slam my booted heel down on his ankle, pressing hard.
“You fucking bitch,” he spits, attempting to kick me, but I press harder, twisting my heel into his leg until I feel his bones grind beneath the pressure.
“Keep talking, and I’ll make sure your insides are scattered so wide, they’ll be calling in the rats to clean up,” I snap, not moving an inch, the gun still in my hand, aimed at his chest. “You like playing games, right? Well, this one’s fucking done.”
He lets out a groan as he tries to move, but he’s trapped, and I realize I’ve won. I crouch down, meeting his eyes, smirking despite the throbbing pain in my body. “You’re not so tough now, are you? You thought you could keep breaking people, keep getting away with it. But it’s over, Victor. You lost.”
He tries to throw another insult my way, but I dig my heel in deeper, silencing him with a pained grunt. “And in the next life when you want to fuck with someone’s life,” I lean in, “make sure they aren’t willing to burn your entire world to the ground.”
I aim the gun and fire. The shot cracks through the room, and Victor howls in pain, his hand instinctively clutching his leg where the bullet hit. I step closer, watching him writhe onthe ground, his cries getting louder with each second. His blood pools beneath him, but it’s not enough. Not for everything he’s done. Not for the lives he destroyed. My vision blurs, and before I know it, a single tear slips down my cheek—my first in a decade.
I don’t hesitate as I press my boot down on his wound, grinding my heel into the open flesh. His screams grow louder and with every cry, another tear falls, spilling over, and then another, like some dam breaking deep inside me. It’s strange, but I don’t try to stop it. The tears come, one after the other, faster and harder, washing over me in a way I didn’t know I needed. Each sob wracks my chest, cleansing me, shaking free every bitter piece I’d buried for so long.