Page 58 of Inheritance
“Do none of you have ammo?” he asked in that gravelly, terrifying voice.
They all shook their heads.
“Then get ready to grab the fucker when he comes in. It’s our only chance—that and stabbing.” He laughed. The others didn’t.
They fanned out in a loose half-circle around the door, blades drawn, breaths ragged and sharp.
Backs to us like we weren’t even there.
Slowly, quietly, Sal gripped the shotgun, started to raise it toward the biggest man.
A boot slammed into the door. The chair splintered. Hinges tore free. Another kick.
“Get ready, boys. It’s just one ma?—”
The door flew inward, cracking one of them in the head. He dropped flat, limbs limp. A shadow stalked in through the doorway, light spilling in behind him.
Not rushing. Not shouting. Just a controlled, lethal grace—shoulders broad, eyes fixed, every step a quiet promise of violence.
He saw me.
His eyes locked on mine.
Something in me surged—recognition, hope, terror. All of it. It drowned the room for a second.
“Gabriel.” I felt his name on my lips.
Then his gaze shifted. Hardened. Saw Sal raising the gun.
He fired.
The shot cracked like thunder.
Sal collapsed beside me, his violent shaking easing into a twitch—then settling into a low, pulsing rhythm.
I blinked the bright light away, rubbed at my ears.
What?
I opened and closed my hands, smearing the red wetness, trying to understand.
Blinding light again. Ears squealing.
The big man was on his knees, face scrunched up hard—not laughing anymore. A shadow was turning his head around the wrong way.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Shook my head.
That was far away.
Had nothing to do with me.
I looked at my hands again.
Wiped them clean.
I squinted around, trying to remember something, saw a girl in the corner. She was shouting, frantic. Her hands trembled, eyes wide, tears running down her cheeks. Looking right at me.
