Page 157 of Can You Take It?

“You… are… just… like… me…” His words drip with venom, cutting through the brief peace that’s settled over me, dragging me right back into the darkness.

My heel twists sharply against his flesh, and he howls in pain.

“The thing about monsters like you,” I start, “is you always assume we’re the same. You see me as your mirror, but here’s the truth: mirrors don’t reflect reality. They shatter. And I’m about to shatter you.”

His lips part to spew more poison and I glare down at him, and I realize I’m done. Done with his godawful voice, done with his poison, done letting him take up any more space in my life.

I aim again—this time at his throat.

“Shut up,” I whisper, and pull the trigger.

The bullet tears through his neck, silencing his scream with a wet, gurgling sound. Blood sprays, coating his hands as they fly up to the wound, desperate to stop the flow, but it’s already too late. His eyes widen, his breaths coming in choked, desperate gasps. He’s drowning in his own blood, coughing and sputtering.

I should feel something—regret, guilt, anything—but I don’t.

I lean down closer, my lips brushing his ear. “I wish I could take my time with you. Strangle you with your own fucking intestines. But I don’t have the luxury of time.”

He gurgles, trying to speak, but all that comes out is more blood. His eyes are pleading now, begging for mercy, but he doesn’t deserve any. Not after what he’s done. Not after the lives he’s destroyed.

With tears still running down my face, I press the gun to the side of his chest, right where the vein connects to his heart. “You think dying is the worst thing that can happen to you?” I whisper. “No, it’s realizing that someone like me is still out there… and you were never enough to stop me.”

I pull the trigger one last time.

His body jerks once, then goes limp. The blood pools around him and his eyes stare blankly up at the ceiling. No more smug smirks, no more taunts. Just silence.

The tears start to slow, trailing down my cheeks until they dry up completely. All the lives I’ve taken before this—they weren’t mine to claim. Not really. They were forced, out of survival, out of necessity. But this? This was different. This was my decision.Idecided he would die.

I leave the gun on the table with my fingerprints all over it. I pull on the untouched gloves from my pocket, too drained to argue with Martin. We need to get out of here.

Martin steps out from behind a stack of crates. He looks rattled—more rattled than I’ve ever seen him. Hell, I fully expected him to start chewing me out by now. We had a plan. I was supposed to shoot Victor and get the fuck out, not go all-in and have a full-blown fight with the bastard.

“You look like shit,” he mutters instead.

“No shit,” I snap, rubbing my knuckles, still aching from the punches I threw. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, and mybody feels heavy, like all the weight of what just happened is finally hitting me.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Follow me,” he says, moving swiftly towards the far end of the room. He stops at a seemingly solid wall and starts feeling around the edges. Within moments, he finds what he’s looking for—a hidden panel. With a quick press, the wall slides open to reveal a dark passageway.

“Underground tunnels,” Martin explains, his eyes scanning for any signs of trouble. “This detention center used to be a military bunker. These tunnels lead out to the forest about a mile from here.”

I hesitate for a split second, then steel myself. “Let’s go.”

We start walking inside the passage. The passageway is narrow, forcing us to move in single file. Martin leads the way with a flashlight in his hand casting long shadows on the rough stone walls.

“Stay close,” he whispers. “These tunnels are tricky. Easy to get lost if you don’t know the way.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. We continue taking slow, deliberate steps when suddenly Martin stops, holding up a hand. I nearly crash into him.

“What is it?”

“Listen,” he replies.

We stand in silence, straining to hear any sounds that might indicate we’ve been followed. For a moment, there’s nothing but the distant dripping of water and the muffled hum of the detention center above us. Then, faintly, I hear a rumbling sound.

“Looks like the guards have figured it out,” Martin says with urgency. “We need to move. Now.”

---