Page 85 of Wicked Little Game
My father isn’t the only one who’s good at finding people's emotional shortcomings, and a part of me wants to provoke him until he shoots me.
He wanted to get rid of the pebble in his shoe that made his life so miserable for the past twenty-four years, so maybe he should just follow through with it.
But just when I’m sure that it’s over for me, the door opens. My father points the gun towards the intruder for a second and then he aims it at me again.
He looks over from Samuel to me and back.
“Ah,Mr. Mills, thank you for joining us. Would have been a shame if I had to go looking for you while she bleeds out in here. But now that you’re here, I wonder which one of you I should kill first. I bet she would be really sad if she had to watch you gargle up blood. Maybe I should be gracious, make it quick with a bullet to your head.”
He plays around with his gun, laughing before he speaks up again.
“Or I could shoot her first. Tell me, Samuel, would it hurt you to watch her die?”
“I don’t think we’re on a first-name basis, Mr. Barron,” Samuel spits out, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone speak with so much disdain in their voice. There’s no gun in his hand, but I doubt he waited out here to de-escalate the situation with words alone.
Suddenly, a gunshot rings through the room.
A few milliseconds later, a second one follows.
I’m pressed against the sideboard, and the ringing in my ear isn’t a ringing anymore, more like a blaring siren that keeps me from forming a coherent thought. I look over at Samuel, my eyes landing on the bullet hole just a few inches next to my head.
The static in my head makes space for the pained cursing of my father. His gun is on the floor, right between him and me. Blood seeps from beneath his fingers while he cradles his hand, and I’m thankful that Samuel is the person in this room with a good aim. There’s a reason my father didn’t teach me how to shoot.
He’s focused on examining his hand, wailing as if it wasamputated. Too focused, so distracted that he doesn’t notice me creeping closer. Not until it’s too late. Well, for him.
I look down at him, my expression blank as I try to shove the sliver of sympathy I have for him aside. Why I even have that is a question for another day. I feel better now that his gun is in my hand.
“Ruby,” he pleads, tone sickeningly sweet and fake. Like always when he knows he fucked up. When he knows he hurt me, but this time, he took it too far.
“Don’t do anything you’ll regret, please. Put the goddamn gun down and we can talk this out like adults.”
He gets up, ignoring how Samuels scolds him as he moves, his gun still pointed at my father.
“I’ll give you money, a house, whatever you want, okay? We can just forget all of this happened, but Ruby, for the love of God, I am your father.”
“Right, you were always such a good father,” I say, raising my eyebrow.
With every second I point the gun at him, his voice gets less shaky and more agitated. Sixty ticks of the clock later, his voice is no longer soft and pleading.
“My only daughter, not only a disgrace but also a snitch,” he snarls. “What did he promise you? Money? Immunity?” He scoffs, little drops of spit flying through the air.
“Or do you only help him because you’re so desperate for attention?”
My knuckles whiten as I grip the gun harder. He looks at my hand, laughing as he sees he got a reaction out of me.
“Oh, the little princess is in love. How pathetic,” he says, looking over at Samuel.
“And here I thought I raised you at least a bit right. But you’re dumber than I thought. Your embarrassing stupidity would be funny if I weren’t the one suffering from it. Whywon’t you understand no one will ever love you? You’re insufferable, always been a fucking burden—”
Another gunshot rings through the room and this time I know damn well where it came from. My father tumbles to the floor, screaming insults at me as he holds his leg. Unlike him, I know where to shoot.
“I should have killed you years ago. Should have gutted you, just like your useless whore of a mother.”
As I walk towards him, I wonder how far his blood will splatter when I put a bullet into his head. My finger is on the trigger and I don’t know what I’m waiting for. Time stands still, the barrel pressing right against his forehead, but all I can see is the grin on his face. The one that saysI know you won’t do it.
Just when I want to prove him wrong one last time, Sam pulls my hand away. His own gun is still pointed at my father to keep him in check.
“Ruby, don’t,” he says softly and somehow this finally brings me to snap.
