Page 172 of Beautifully Shattered
Not yet.
Not until he’s dead.
Standing, my legs are trembling as I keep my gun trained on him, slowly approaching as he tries to crawl away, his blood smearing the concrete.
“I would have liked this to be slow,” I tell him with an icy chill to my voice as I reach his side, planting my boot on the bullet hole weeping crimson.
He screams, the sound like music to my ears, reminding me of the day Karl Stone died.
Karma always comes. Don’t they know that?
“I’ve dreamed of this day, you know,” I murmur, leaning down so he can hear the hate in my tone. “I really wanted to see exactly how you’d like a taste of your own medicine.” I grind my boot down harder, drinking in every ragged scream that falls from his lips.
“Stop! P-please! I’m s-sorry.” He sobs, his voice breaking.
I scoff. “No, you’re not. You loved every minute of raping me, Donny. Don’t you dare pretend you regret a thing.”
“P-please I’ll d-do anything,” he begs, and I sigh, lifting my foot from his back and shoving him over so I can see his ugly, pale face.
“Anything?” I ask, letting the word drip from my lips and smiling when he nods frantically.
“You’re not gonna like it,” I say, almost sweetly, as I aim the gun at his shoulder and pull the trigger.
He howls, blood splattering up my legs, and without hesitation, I shift my aim to his other shoulder and fire again, the second shout tearing another guttural scream from his lungs.
He’s a sobbing, broken mess. “P-please… s-stop…”
“Do you remember me begging, Donny?” I ask, dropping to my haunches. “Do you remember me pleading with you to stop?”
He cries out something I can’t make out, so I press my gun to his lips, watching his tear-filled eyes go wide.
“Open wide, Donny,” I say, nudging the barrel against his lips. “You know how this goes, don’t you? It’s exactly what you did to me.” I shove the cold metal between his teeth, his muffled cries vibrating against the barrel. “Yeah, I know. You used your diseased dick instead of a gun. But the thing is, Donny, it might as well have been a gun for me.” My lip curls into a feral snarl as I ram the gun deeper until he gags, choking wetly around the steel.
“What were the words you said?” I taunt, his pathetic whimpers stoking the fire inside me. “You said, ‘take all of it, you cunty whore, and fucking choke!’”
I shove the barrel so far down his throat he splutters, his eyes rolling back as he starts to violently choke.
As much as I want to drag this out, to watch him die a thousand deaths, I know he’s not worth a second of my life.
So I squeeze the trigger.
Blood and brain matter literally explode around my hand, up my arm, and over my face.
A rush of pure, soul-deep satisfaction rolls through me at the knowledge that Donny Allen is finally dead, and for a long beat, I just stare at the place his face once was.
A noise behind me snaps me back to reality, and I spin on my knees, my gun raised as I catch a bloody trail smearing the concrete where Ian Allen was moments ago.
With my heart in my throat, I scurry up, following the crimson trail, spotting my knife on the floor on the other side of the plane. My eyes track the bloody path until I see Ian Allen limp-running for the exit.
I point and shoot, but I miss, his deep yell echoing in the hangar before he bursts through the door, vanishing out into the chaos.
I sprint after him, my boots pounding the concrete as I dodge the slick trail of blood he left behind, and when I reach the door, I burst through it, stumbling into a war zone.
It’s utter chaos. There’s gunfire coming from every direction. I can’t tell if it’s friendly fire or the enemy. There’s smoke and flames from the hangar that blew up, plus a plane burning out in the open.
Scanning the swirling smoke, I finally spot Ian Allen limping towards another hangar, and not far behind him is Ringo.
My shoulders relax at seeing my man moving like a predator, his sights set on the man he wants to kill.
