Page 41 of Devil Mine

Marco looks at me with a bewildered look on his face. For only the second time in his life, I think he’s actually at a loss for words.

“So… do I shoot her,jefe?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dagny begs, hands up once more, all traces of humor gone from her face. “I—I was kidding about the whole shooting me thing. I joke when I’m nervous and, well, you have a gun,” she explains. “I really have no idea where she is, I promise. She made a point not to tell me because she knew you’d come here looking for her.”

“That was her mistake,” I answer cold-bloodedly.

There’s always this split-second before a person gets shot when realization hits.

That sudden cognizance of what’s about to happen to them becomes visible on their face, in the slackening of their features and the abject terror that takes over their gazes. It’s an innate understanding that they’re about to die, that moment where their life flashes before their eyes and regret hits as they think about all the dreams they had that they never made a reality.

I fuckinglovethat moment, the sheer humanity of it just before a life is snuffed out forever. It’s the very definition of power. It gets my dick hard knowing the last thing people see before they simply cease to exist isme; that I was judge, jury and executioner with their lives in my hands.

That the decision was easier than deciding which mug to pour my coffee into that morning.

Unfortunately for me but luckily for Dagny, I don’t get to experience that moment today because she manages to snatch her life from the jaws of death.

“She’ll never get over losing me,” Dagny whispers, holding my gaze. “It’ll devastate her and change her forever. You’ll never get the old version of her back.”

There’s no way she thinks that’ll actually work on me. Emotion is the last thing that weighs in the balance when it comes to taking someone’s life.

And yet.

I’m about to laugh derisively when an image of Tess broken by the death of her best friend flashes through my mind. She’s sobbing, cheeks wet with tears, eyes wide and haunted.

That vision does something absolutely perplexing to me. Something that’s never happened before.

It makes me pause.

And it makes me waver.

Puta madre.

I’m faltering from making a decision I’d otherwise make in a heartbeat because I don’t want my fiancée to be sad. What the actual fuck?

Since when do I fuckingcare?

I can’t be defective like this in my position — my ruthlessness can’t be impaired by thoughts of how one blue-eyed woman will react, no matter who she is.

I’ll have Marco beat the weakness out of me with his fists later. Hopefully that’ll also drill some sense back into me.

Cursing at myself internally, I change the plan through angrily gritted teeth.

“Brazo,” I bark.

Marco fires. If he’s surprised by the lack of kill shot, he doesn’t show it.

The force of the bullet makes Dagny’s body jerk backwards. She flies a couple feet and hits the floor, screaming as the slug buries itself into her right arm.

Blood spurts haphazardly from the visible hole in her flesh. Silent tears stream down her face as she continues to scream, her other hand coming up to clutch the wound to staunch the bleeding.

She uses her operational arm to drag her body backwards, crawling away from my approaching form as best she can. She’s whimpering in pain, her face fractured when I crouch in front of her.

Surely she must realize the mercy she’s just been given. A non-lethal gunshot wound is a generosity she wouldn’t have received without uttering her last words.

I toss a kitchen towel at her and she catches it, staring at me with wary eyes. I continue to toy with her, hoping it’ll reignite the previous interest I had in taking her life. She blanches, losing all color in her face, when I take my gun out of the band of my trousers and press it against the open skin of her throat.

“Are you going to kill me?”

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