Page 11 of Depraved
“Come on. Come on,” I urge the phone silently.
The screen finally comes to life, but before I can punch in 9-1-1, the door swings open and bounces off the wall.
The phone falls from my hand as I jump in surprise and swing the gun out in front of me into the darkness.
I don’t hesitate. I know better. I won’t go back.
So, I fire.
MOTHERFUCKER.I’VE BEEN SHOT.
A scorching pain sears my shoulder, and my hand hits the wall, unintentionally turning on the light as I duck down.
Everything happens in slow motion. Vincenzo yells from down the hall, and I feel myself answer, but I can’t hear it.
I don’t even know what the fuck I’m saying because my arm feels like it’s on fire.
I shake my head as my mind tries to speed back up, but it’s like I have a lag. My left hand reaches across my chest to my shoulder, but all I feel is wetness.
“Fuck,” I grit out, seeing the streaks of crimson seeping through the arm of my white tuxedo shirt.
A noise in front of me calls my attention.
“You. You’re a fucking dead man,” I shout as my head jerks, my vision blurred by the quick movement.
I feel someone pulling at my body, tugging me to stand up. I’m gonna kill whoever the fuck did this.
I launch my hand out and grab at the soft flesh in front of me, squeezing so hard a rageful grunt pulls from my throat.
I’m going to kill this motherfucker. Squeeze the life right out of him.
My eyes become clearer, fixing on the asshole I have a hold of by the throat.
But all I see is Sarah.
Her crystal-blue eyes are wide, filled with shock and shiny from her tears. Her pupils dilate as she’s denied breath as my wrathful grip increases.
What the fuck? Someone shot me… Why is Sarah here?
Rage courses through my body asshe slaps at my grip, sputtering coming from her lips, when suddenly understanding smacks me in the face.
Sarah shot me.
My eyes narrow on her angrily, my words becoming a growl. “Put the fucking gun down.”
I loosen my hold enough for her to wheeze in a grateful breath.
“Dante. Fuck.” She coughs, still holding the gun in her hand, waving it at her side.
I tighten my grip again, glaring at her, and she nods against my hand, dropping the gun to the floor.
I release her instantly, and as she takes a heavy step backward, I kick the gun toward the door.
“Jesus.” She breathes heavily, taking in more of the air I was denying her. “What the hell are you doing here? Why the fuck wouldn’t you announce yourself? I could’ve fucking killed you! You’re such an asshole,” she yells, her voice coarse and raspy as she rubs her neck.
I’m an asshole?“Why the fuck do you have a gun?” I roar.
She isn’t the kind of girl who carries a gun let alone knows how to use it.
