Page 128 of Santa Daddy
My gun came up on instinct, arm straight, sights lined on the center of his chest. My hands didn’t shake this time.
The shot was loud in my own ears, but it was the silence after that really rang.
Maksim’s grin faltered. He looked down at the dark red spreading across his shirt, then back up at me with something like confused outrage.
“That’s for threatening my family,” I said.
My voice was calm.
Deadly.
He slumped against the tree, breath bubbling red, eyes already glazing. I held my stance, gun still trained on him, until I was sure there was no coming back.
It had been him all along.
The architect of the chaos that had gutted our lives.
A warm hand landed on my shoulder.
When I looked at Konstantin, I saw something new in his eyes. Not just possession. Not just desire. Something like recognition.
“It really was him,” I said.
He nodded once. “With him gone,” he said, voice rough, “the rest will fall back in line.”
Leader gone, wolves scattering.
Around us, the forest went still.
The surviving attackers had already started to melt into the dark the moment Maksim went down, their loyalty evaporating with his last breath. The only sounds left were our breathing and the faint crackle of something burning back near the cabin.
“You’re not just my future,” Konstantin said quietly, eyes still on my face. “You’re my weapon.”
I didn’t hear arrogance in it.
I heard truth.
His weapon. His partner. His equal.
In the distance, a sound began to thread through the trees—thin at first, then growing.
Sirens.
Not many. Maybe one old truck from whatever passed for law this far out. Close enough to be a problem, far enough we had minutes.
“Sheriff’s department,” I said. “By the time they get here, there’ll be nothing left but footprints and brass. Alexei will make sure the report says ‘illegal hunters’ and bad luck.”
“Someone heard the fireworks,” I said.
“Or someone wanted witnesses to the aftermath,” he replied.
He holstered his gun and turned toward the wrecked cabin.
“We run,” he said. “One more time.”
One more time, and then… whatever came after.
I followed, gun still warm in my hand, blood drying on my clothes, his child alive and kicking quietly inside me.
