Page 93 of Sinful Justice

“Fix it.” He closes the space between us and presses the muzzle of his gun to my sternum.

Over his shoulder, Fletch and Archer spill out of the elevator with their guns raised, and terror drawn in every line of Archer’s face.

“Fix it now,” Tribble demands, “or I’ll kill you, then I’ll makeherfix it.”

“I can’t fix it,” I quietly argue. “Everything’s already in motion. So unless you want to add about thirteen more deaths to your count, you can’t put these worms back in their can.”

“Fix it!” he screams so spittle lands on my face. “Fix it, Mayet!”

“You really shouldn’t have hurt that little girl.” I stand taller and roll the scalpel I have hidden behind my back. “You should have left her alone, and none of this would have happened.”

“Fix it!”

“Once they’re dead, they’re mine to avenge.”

“Mayet—”

“Once they’re mine,” I grit out, “I don’t stop until justice has been served. Even in a world where the judicial system really sucks.”

“Tribble!”

Archer’s booming voice makes us both jump. Brantley’s hand squeezes around the gun, the muzzle pressing deeper into my stomach, and as a result, my eyes crush closed when I consider that death is a mere second away.

I’ve studied it for so long. I’ve mourned those I don’t know, and I’ve sought retribution for those who had no one else to stand up for them. I’ve touched death thousands of times. And today… today might be the day I experience it myself.

Ironic, considering the date.

I clamp my eyes shut and wait for the fire, but Tribble spins instead, his gun whirling dangerously through the air until it stops just three inches from Archer’s enraged face.

My heart stops when Tribble’s fat finger caresses the trigger.

“Excellent,” he murmurs. “Saves me looking for you.”

I swing out with my scalpel, telegraphing my move with a battle cry that draws Archer’s eyes. Before Tribble can duck, I bury the thin blade at the very base of his skull, between his C1 and C2 vertebrae.

The gun explodes, and the glass wall at Archer’s back bursts, showering us all with sharp shrapnel. Tribble drops, slamming against the floor with a thud that ends with a spray of blood bursting from his brow.

My breath races as I study the mayor laid out at my feet.

Archer’s body is still in motion. He stole the gun right from Tribble’s hand while he fell, and his revolution comes to an end as he pulls the gun apart with agile movements. Fletcher dashes through the spraying window to grab Aubree. Glass nicks my skin; my arms, my hands, and my face so I bleed more than the others.

Already, I bleed more than them.

Everything happens in the time it takes me to lower to one knee. Then I shove Tribble’s overweight body to his back and find immense satisfaction in the fact his eyes remain open. The smell of urine permeates the air. The stench of feces follows. But there isn’t a thing the mayor can do about it.

“Your body no longer works, Brantley.” Revulsion surges in my veins as I look into his horrible eyes. “Your lungs will not draw air, and your heart only pumps now because electrical currents force it to. You’ve lost control of your bladder, and you don’t even realize it. Because you can’t feel it. But I assure you, the rest of us know you’ve pissed your pants.”

Enraged, I lean closer and sneer while his brain processes he’s already a dead man. “You’re dying. And still, it’s not enough.”

“Minka!” Archer charges forward with wads of gauze cupped in his hand. He slams them against my face, nearly knocking me unconscious because of the force behind his collision. “You’re bleeding.”

“I enjoy watching people like you die.” I stare into Tribble’s eyes and grin when tears spill over and slide along his temples. “I enjoy this more than you’ll ever know.”

“Minka!” Archer drags me up to stand. “Fletch!”

“This is Detective Fletcher,” Charlie yells into… I don’t know. His phone maybe. Or a radio. Maybe he’s just shouting it to the universe. “Requesting medevac and backup.”

“No need.” I let Archer wrap me in a tight hug. But I look around him and smirk when Tribble’s body gives up and his heart stops.

His eyes stay on me. Dead. Terrified. Unseeing.

“He’s gone, Fletch. And he was the only armed intruder here today.”

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