Page 2 of Reaper & Ruin
When I stopped in front of him, he reached behind his back and pulled out a gun. It was sleek and black, its barrel catching the faint glow of the desk lamp. He held it out to me.
I knew how to shoot. We’d been taught, all of us, since we were children. I also knew that I didn’t like guns.
Guns were violent, and I… I didn’t like being violent.
“It’s time,”he said.“Time for you to become a man.”
My heart stopped. Or maybe it sped up. I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that I didn’t want to touch that gun. I didn’t want to touch anything in this room. But my father was still holding it out to me, his eyes locked on mine, daring me to refuse.
I felt my fingers curl into fists again, my nails biting into my palms.
“Take it,”he said, his voice dropping an octave.“Don’t make me ask twice.”
I hesitated for a fraction of a second longer, then reached out and took the gun. It was heavier than I expected, the cold metal settling into my hand like a stone. My fingers trembled against the grip, and I clenched them tighter, willing them to stop shaking.
“Good,”my father said, stepping back slightly to give me room.“Now, kill him.”
I stared at him, my stomach churning.“I…”My voice cracked, and I looked down at the man on the floor. His one good eye was wide, his lips trembling as he tried to speak. I couldn’t tell if he was begging or praying.
I couldn’t work out which was worse as a lump formed in my throat, and my heart pounded loud enough to make me dizzy.
The gun stayed in my hand. Tight in my grip. Shaky too. I wanted to lift it. Use it. Do what I had to do, but…
“I don’t want to,”I said, my voice barely more than a whisper.
“What did you say?”My father’s voice was sharp enough that Emilio flinched too.
“I don’t—”
“Hesitation is weakness, Giovanni,”he snapped, cutting me off.“And weakness gets people killed. Do it. Now. Or I shall dispose of you instead.”
My chest felt like it was caving in, like all the air had been sucked out of the room. My father’s words echoed in my head, drowning out everything else.
I hated him.
I hated his voice, his rules, his cold, unrelenting eyes. I hated this house, this family, this life he was forcing me into.
And for a split second, I thought about turning the gun on him instead.
But I didn’t. Icouldn’t.
Because murder wasn’t right. Not unless it was for self-defence. And this? This was not self-defence. It was just a way for the worst man I knew to show me I didn’t know just how nasty he could be.
So I raised the gun, my arm trembling under its weight. The man on the floor whimpered, his broken body twisting slightly, as if he could somehow crawl away. My finger hovered over the trigger, my pulse pounding in my ears worse than before.
I closed my eyes. Squeezed them tight.
Pulled the trigger.
There was silence. Silence so loud that my eyes flew open, lips parted.
Father stared at me, a cruel smirk on his face as he raised another gun of his own.“Glad to see you’re not useless, son.”
The sound of the gunshot was deafening. But it was not me. My gun, after a quick check, had no bullets.
It was a game. A test. A horrid thing.
Blood pooled beneath the man, soaking into the rug. My father didn’t blink once at the sight of the man he had killed. He just kept looking at me.
