Page 91 of Widow's Walk

With not a shred of kindness, I peel the duct tape off unhurriedly. Never taking my eyes off his demonic gaze. He says nothing, and neither do I. Not yet. Moving down the line, I do the same to my mother, then Lincoln, then last and most definitely least, Royce.

All of them sneer at me as if they still hold any power. They have nothing while I walk tall, feeling like I have the whole world at my fingertips. And in a way, I do.

From birth to twenty-two years old, they were my world, because I was their prisoner. Their punching bag. Their entertainment. Their sin.

Until Blackwell whisked me away with force. Dragging me out by my hair. And despite everything we’ve gone through, he became my savior.

An idea sparks. “Hey, Deisel,” I say to one of our men, the biggest one that I refer to as Deisel because of how massive the goon is. His eyes widen slightly, hesitant. “Let me borrow your piece, would ya?” I extend a hand out.

He looks to Blackwell, and I won’t lie, it still stings when everyone still waits for Blackwell’s approval on every single thing. His eyes flick back to me, and finally hands over his gun.

I can feel Blackwell trying to figure out what I’m up to. “I know he carries a Glock,” I say without looking at him as I check the chamber and switch the safety off. “He prefers to use his hands. No need for a big gun.” I’ve seen him in action. The man can crush a skull with his massive hands. His muscles aren’t just for show.

“And you wanted a Glock because…”

I grin. “I don’t want to kill them.” I point the gun at Lincoln. “Yet.”

Pop!

I pull the trigger, and it hits his thigh, right above his knee, careful not to nick an artery. I don’t want him bleeding out on the first wound.

He goes down, growling and hissing through his teeth, writhing in pain. Hawk doesn’t wait for instruction. He grabs Lincoln and pushes him back up to his knees. My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. To see Lincoln bleed, red in the face with pain.Weak.

I am so happy right now.

Pop!

A bullet goes to the opposite hip. Down he goes, and Hawk pushes him back up. “You fucking whore,” he snarls through his teeth. His greasy hair sticks to his face as he breaks a sweat.

Blackwell takes a step forward on instinct, and I stop him. “No.” My voice cracks like a whip. His head snaps to mine, and Ican see the fire in his eyes. He almost forgot this ismymoment.Myjustice.

His jaw tenses as he holds his tongue and shuts down the urge to interfere. Reminding himself why we’re even here.

My father chuckles, and it’s the same nauseating, guttural sound that makes my skin crawl. “Look at you,” he says to Blackwell. “All that power and you hand your balls over to the family disgrace, all because she spread her legs. Domesticated by the broken slut.” He snorts. “Pussy must be magic,” he mutters.

I have to ignore the heat rippling from Blackwell. The air between us is combustible. He’s barely holding it together. I can feel him behind me, straining not to move, not to speak, not to tear everything apart. If I so much as glance his way, I know he’ll implode. Splintering under the pressure he’s bottling up just to let me have this moment.

I cluck my tongue and shake my head. “Patience, father. It’s not your turn yet.”

He starts in again, but as soon as I point the gun at his face, he snaps his mouth shut. My father is proud, but he’s also a pussy. He doesn’t want to die, and he’ll beg for his life if it comes down to it.

I move the gun down the line, but not far. Right next to him. My mother. She’s a blubbering mess. The opposite of the cold bitch she’s always been. There was always a scowl on her plastic face. God, it feels so good to make her cry. I wish I could bottle every tear and line my shelf with them like trophies.

Pop!

Her scream echoes in the quiet of the night. I’m surprised a bunch of birds didn’t just scatter from the thicket. That would make this moment perfect.

Hawk picks her up, and she tries going limp as she screams and cries. “Sit up or the next one goes in your head,” I say, voice lethal.

Her bottom lip and chin quiver, but she complies as Hawk props her up again. I smile, then—pop!

She falls back, crying out when the next bullet hits her just below her belly button. Again, not fatal. If treated in a timely fashion.

Momentarily, I’m satisfied. But I didn’t quite get what I wanted out of Lincoln, so I shift back to him. Aiming the gun at his abdomen, I pull the trigger.

Pop!

He finally howls out and keels over, his body hunched, and hits the ground headfirst. Unable to catch himself with his hands tied behind his back. He screams through his teeth as Hawk hauls him up. Spittle flying out like sparks. He looks at me with murder in his eyes, and I love it.

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