Page 158 of Spark

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I laid on my side on Darren’s bed facing the door, waiting for him to come back even though I knew I would be asleep before he did. Because I was a good girl. I did what I was told when I was told. I didn’t question. I didn’t complain. If I could be good, I wouldn’t disappoint Darren. I wouldn’t have to go back to the basement.

Just the thought alone had me nearly bursting into tears.

I sat up from the bed and turned to take my sleep aids when the door opened. My heart skipped a beat, but it was only Clive. Disappointment flooded my heart.

“Miss Jaden, please get dressed to go outside,” he said.

I blinked once before immediately getting up to go to the closet to change. Ninety-nine percent of Clive’s orders came directly from Darren, so if Clive was asking me to get dressed, it was because Darren told him to. I quickly changed into a knee-length black sundress with three-quarter sleeves and a pair of black flats before hurrying over to the door. I knew Darren didn’t like to be kept waiting.

Clive and Owen escorted me downstairs and out toward the patio. I didn’t ask where we were going. They wouldn’t answer, and I would find out soon enough.

But when we stepped outside and started to make our way over to the shed, I felt my heart rate kick up. Only one thing went on down there; it was bloody and gruesome, and I wanted nothing to do with it. The last time I was down there had been brutal. I’d witnessed my first murder of what was likely to be many in my future, and still, it haunted me.

I followed Owen down the stairs of the trap door while Clive trailed behind. Below, the same familiar faces filled the room as last time. Scott stood in the corner with a hard glare in his eye while Clive and Owen moved to flank me. When my eyes finally locked on Darren, I felt myself freeze from the look he was giving me. Oh, God, what had I done? Was I in trouble? But then his eyes fell to the man sitting in a chair next to him. He was bruised, bloody, but still breathing for some reason. Why had Darren kept him alive? Did he want me to witness another one of his second-chance murders?

But as I looked into the eyes of the man on death row, I saw something familiar. It was something I didn’t want to remember, but my memories refused such a luxury. Emotions I had not felt in the longest time suddenly flooded my body as I came to recognize the face, allowing a voice to play in my head over and over again.

Can’t be too careful…

Can’t be too careful…

Can’t be too careful…

Motherfucking Jared.

Anger like I had never felt before burned through my veins like acid. I felt my lips pull back from my teeth, revealing a scowl bordering on animalistic while my nails bit into the palms of my tightly clenched fists.

Why the fuck was this guy still breathing?

When Jared’s eyes finally found mine, the stupid fuck actually started laughing, and it only made me seethe more.

“Hey there, hot stuff. Miss me?” he barely croaked out with a gurgled chuckle.

“Is he your traitor?” I asked Darren, my eyes still on Jared.

“Yes.”

“Then why is he still alive?”

“Because I’ve decided his life is not mine to take. It’s yours.”

My head instantly snapped to Darren as my mind filled with confusion. Mine? Nothing was mine. Everything was his. Everything.

“What?”

“Come here, Jaden,” he ordered and pulled a gun from the side of his hip.

I went to him without hesitation, my heart pounding out of my chest as I found it difficult to swallow. When I was at his side, he slid a magazine holding what looked like one bullet into the gun and held it up. A silencer was attached to the barrel.

“There is now one bullet in the mag. I’m giving you one chance to pull this trigger and put the bullet in Jared’s head. But I want you to understand that I’m not forcing you to do this. You can refuse if you want, and I will allow it this one time. But just know, if you take this gun and you do pull the trigger and end his life, you start walking down an entirely new path, and there is no walking away from that. Ever. Do you understand?”

I was suddenly having a hard time finding my breath. I looked down at the black H&K USP 45 Tactical, and it dawned on me that I actually knew what kind of gun Darren was holding. I knew of its excellent accuracy, the perfection of the craftsmanship, and the fantastic reliability it garnered. I also knew it was a .45-caliber pistol with a threaded barrel to allow the grip of the silencer.

I had never been shy around guns. I grew up around them. My dad hunted and was an avid shooter and proud gun owner. I followed in his footsteps. When you obtained a license to carry concealed, you had a responsibility to educate yourself on that type of weaponry, and I made sure I was a fucking scholar in that area.

I was never afraid of guns. They were nothing to be feared. The only reason to be afraid was when someone had their finger on the trigger and was pointing it at you. But the presence and existence of this particular firearm wasn’t what had me alarmed; it was what the man holding it was offering me to do with it.