Page 117 of Love Bleeds Red
My hand shakes.
Is this who I am? Killing a man. My father. Point blank.
“You hesitate. That’s always been your weakness, Leon. Too much conscience. Too much... sentiment. Not enough action.”
Please let them escape.
I lower my weapon, fucking hating myself. I know I should kill him. I want to. But my fingers refuse to pull the trigger.
Alfred releases a breath that turns into a laugh. My eyes are cast downward, but I hear his footsteps coming closer before he presses his gun against my temple. “Don’t try anything. I don’t want to shoot, but I won’t hesitate if it comes to that.”
The cold metal pressed against my temple feels final. Like this is it. This is where the Colter bloodline ends, in violence and darkness, just like everything Alfred touches.
“Bailey,” I call out without moving my head, hoping she’s left already, but in case she hasn’t… “Take Mum and go. I’m begging you.”
“Leon, no?—”
“GO!” I roar, putting everything I have into that single word. “Please. Just go.”
I close my eyes, thinking of her laugh, her smile, her touch. At least she’ll live. At least she’ll be free. That’s all I ever wanted.
“This is so touching,” Alfred says, yanking my weapon from my hand. “Too bad they won’t make it two steps outside this building. They’ll end up joining your friends.”
“You have me. Let them go,” I plead, hoping he’ll keep his word and they’ll all stay safe.
“Move,” he says, pressing the gun harder against my skull. “We’re going downstairs. I need you secure so I can deal with this mess.”
I could try to overpower him. Knock the gun out of his hand, wrestle him to the ground. But this is easier. I already know I won’t take the killing shot. And maybe he’s telling the truth—if I cooperate, he won’t kill them.
With his weapon against my head, I walk where he directs me, through the dining room and down the familiar corridors. Every step feels like a slow march toward my execution.
Bailey and Mum had time to get out. They’re safe. Focus on that.
The basement door looms ahead of us, standing open from earlier. The harsh fluorescent lights are still on in the center of the space, unaffected by the power cut. The air is still thick.
“Down,” Alfred orders.
I descend the narrow staircase with my hands raised. Each step has my mind racing through possibilities. Maybe I can keep him talking, distract him long enough to make a move. Maybe the others are still alive and will find me. Fuck. I can’t get locked in down here.
We reach the bottom and Alfred gestures toward the cells. “You locked me in there like an animal,” he says. “Now you get to see what happens to animals that bite the hand that feeds them.”
But when we approach the cell where I left him unconscious, Alfred stops dead. Through the small window, I can see Ms. Harrington sitting on the cot, staring at the wall with a blank expression. Her usual tight bun has pieces sticking out in all directions, and there are tear tracks down her cheeks.
“What the bloody hell?” Alfred mutters, leaning closer to the window. “Greta? How did you?—”
That’s when I hear footsteps behind us, barely audible but definitely there.
Alfred’s too focused on the cell to notice, and I don’t dare turn around or give any sign that I’ve heard anything. Instead, I keep my eyes fixed on Ms. Harrington, who finally looks up and meets our gazes through the glass.
“Sir?” she calls out. “Sir, is that you? They locked me in here. I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Who locked you in?” Alfred demands, confusion replacing some of the rage in his voice. “Where are my men? Where is your key?”
The footsteps are closer now. Two sets, moving along the shadows.
“I don’t know, Sir. These men, they locked me in. Said you were dead.”
Alfred’s grip on the gun loosens as he clearly tries to process this information. I should take the opportunity given. Should disarm him.
