Page 52 of Claimed By A Blue Eyed Menace

Seth snapped his glare toward me. “Sebastian—”

“No,” I stated firmly.

Rob smirked. “Look at you. Always the level-headed one.”

I turned my gaze back to him. “Why the fuck you bring my wife into this shit?”

His smile faded. “Because I knew she was the only thing that could make you stop and think before you followed your old man into hell.”

I didn’t respond. Because deep down, I knew he wasn’t wrong. The cabin was silent except for the heavy breathing of Rob. I stared down at my uncle, his frail, pitiful body slumped in that chair. The ropes were digging into his wrists, but I didn’t give a fuck. If he wanted to die so badly, then fine. He could rot right here.

“No meds. No nurses. No nothin',” I said, my voice flat, final. “If he wanna die, he can do it on his own time.”

Seth scoffed, his grip tightening around the gun still in his hand. “The fuck you mean, boy?”

I cut my gaze to my father. “I mean, we leave him here. Let him fade out slow, like the fuckin’ coward he is.”

Seth’s face twisted in fury. “Nah. Fuck that.” I could already see him gearing up, chest rising and falling like a bull about to charge. He wasn’t having it. He wanted blood. “He dies NOW!” my father barked, stepping toward me.

I squared my shoulders, jaw locking. “That ain’t your call.”

“The fuck it ain’t!” Seth snapped. “Everything I built, everything I sacrificed, and you wanna leave this motherfucka alive? After what he did?”

I didn’t back down. “Let him suffer.”

Seth’s lips curled in disgust. “You gettin’ soft, Shooter.”

The words barely left his mouth before the shot rang out. The crack of the gunshot echoed in the small cabin. Rob’s head snapped back, his body jerking once before going still. Blood trickled down from the hole dead center of his forehead. Seth and I both turned at the same time as another shot was fired.

Seth stumbled back, clutching his chest as blood bloomed across his shirt. I whipped my gun out, aiming it straight at Ren, who still had his arm extended, his gun smoking.

“The fuck are you doin'?!” I roared.

Ren’s expression didn’t change. If anything, there was something dark and menacing in his eyes as he lifted his weapon again—this time, aimed right at me. “You don’t get it, do you?” Ren murmured, voice low, eerily calm.

I didn’t lower my gun. “Getwhat?”

Ren exhaled, almost like he was disappointed. “I’m tired of this shit. Tired of playing the loyal soldier. Tired of watchin’ you get handed a throne you don’t even want.”

My blood ran cold. “Nigga, you better watch what the fuck you sayin’,” I warned.

Ren’s grip on his gun didn’t waver. “I been by your side for years. I bled for this family. Put in work for this family. And for what? To play second to a nigga who don’t even care?” I stared at him, my pulse thudding in my ears. Ren shook his head. “I earned my spot. You just happened to be born with the right name.”

Betrayal cut through me like a blade, sharp and deep. I took a slow step forward, gun still raised. “So what? You gon’ take me out? Step in my spot like this shit yours?”

Ren tilted his head slightly. “If that’s what it takes.”

I gritted my teeth. “We was brothers, LaRenz.”

His expression didn’t change. “Nah, I was your flunky but not anymore.”

Seth coughed behind me, struggling to lift his head. Blood dripped from his mouth as he glared at Ren with all the hate in the world. “Kill that…muthafucka,” he rasped.

Ren’s gaze flicked to him, and that second—that hesitation—was all I needed. My bullet tore through the side of Ren’s head. His body swayed for a fraction of a second before dropping like dead weight.

But I didn’t stop. I emptied the whole fucking clip into him. Every last bullet. The room smelled like blood and gunpowder. Ren’s body was riddled with holes, blood pooling beneath him in a dark, thick puddle. I stepped back, chest heaving, my fingers still tight around the gun.

I turned to my father, who was struggling to breathe. He was slumped against the floor, his face pale, blood soaking through his clothes. He let out a low, weak chuckle, looking up at me. “You handled it.”

---