Page 49 of Submit
“And who the fuck are you?” Goon number one asks.
“The man who will either let you walk away quietly or kill you gruesomely if you choose to stay. I just want the girl, but I’ll do what I must to get her.”
Goon number two, the one with the gun, laughs. “I’d like to see you try.”
“If you say so.”
Ever since I found out what was going on, and Millie cried in my arms, my monster has been wanting to come out and play. The week of following Tyler around has been nothing but boring tailing and watching, all while missing Millie and worrying about what he’s doing to her at night when she’s not chained up in his kitchen, but in his bed.
I know he’s been fucking her, hitting her, using her, and all the while he’s had her sister here, like an animal in an old building, supervised by two idiots. And now the said idiots think they can get out of here after taking a shot at me and laughing over the probable corpse of her sister. Fuck them.
I can feel the old man I used to be clawing at me, wanting to come out. The one who’s killed before, the one who enjoyed it much more than he should have. I’ve kept him silent for years, appeasing him with building wealth and possessions, hiding away from love and feelings. But I think all along I was strengthening him for the time I would need him, and it’s over love of all things.
The love of a woman who was hurting and I couldn’t see it. I need to save her from him and from herself. I need to use the beast inside of me now, to end this once and for all. It has to be me; the only man Tyler Richmond is afraid of.
The anger is rising, and the longer I stay behind the stack of pallets, the easier it’s getting to let my monster take control. I’m, in essence, giving Adrian over to him, the nameless beast who does what needs to be done.
With a roaring growl, I run out from behind the wooden crates and stacks, charging at goon number two, and taking him down before he can even get a shot off. The element of surprise works every time, even when the opponent is armed and thinks they’re ready.
We go to the floor rolling around and grabbing at each other, his hands trying to push me away, his grip slipping on the gun. He’s half my size, and easy to overpower, and when I grab at his hand and peel his fingers back one by one, breaking them, the gun comes loose and falls on his screaming face, smacking him right on the nose, breaking open the bridge of it. He grabs at the wound, and I take the opportunity to pick up the weapon, looking it over for half a second before cocking it and shoving the barrel into the center of his forehead.
“I gave you the opportunity to walk away.” I say to him, watching goon number one from the corner of my eye as he takes a step towards us on the floor.
The first guy takes a leap at us, his feet leaving the ground, his arms reaching for me, and without a second thought, I swing my arm over across my chest and squeeze the trigger.
His body falls to the floor in a heap, then twitches and gurgles. A large pool of blood runs out from under him and spreads across the cement as the raspy noises from him cease, and everything falls still, dead still.
“You, you, you fucking shot him.” The guy under me says, his words shaky, his face white in fear.
“I did. I told you I would. Now it’s your turn.” I say, bringing the tip of the barrel back to his forehead, making him freeze under me except for a tear that rolls out of his eye, down his temple, and drips onto the floor.
“Please don’t.”
“Sorry. No, not sorry.” I laugh and pull the trigger.
His head bounces from the force of the shot, the back of it blowing out and sliding across the floor, leaving a trail of grey matter behind it, while a single red river runs from the smaller hole in his forehead.
It’s cathartic watching him die instantly under me. It’s not the gruesome way I had imagined, but still pretty gross and satisfying.
Climbing off his body, wincing in pain at my broken ribs and the effort it was to take him down and fight for the weapon, I curse and rub at the bruising on my chest.
The place is dead quiet, the only sound being that of my panting breath at the pain that tears through me, but I can’t let that hold me back. I need to find Angela and see for myself what has become of her.
It’s not a long time, only a few seconds of searching till I find her, tucked away in a corner where the light from the one hanging bulb doesn’t reach. I smell the blood before I see her, and with my breath held, I turn on the flashlight on my phone and shine it down on her.
The air blows out of me, and I fall to my knees. Laying on the floor in front of me, with her hands tied behind her, a knife in her chest, and bruises all over her face is Millie, my Millie, my little bunny.
“What the fuck?”
My heart hammers in my chest, and my head spins. I want to vomit, but I hold it in, struggling to breathe around it.
“Oh no, no, no, no. Millie? No bunny, it can’t be.”
There’s no way it’s her. She was alive this morning when he left the house, and he never went home. There has to be an explanation.
“Bunny is that you?” I ask the corpse, reaching down and petting her long chocolate hair, rolling her over so she faces up.
Her eyes are open, frozen in the moment of shear terror when the knife had plunged into her. The green irises are clouded over, but I can still see the emerald color behind the haze of death.
