The sound of multiple splatters meets my ears as the guards continue to retch, which is quickly followed by the sweet-sour, bile-laced stench of their vomit as it pollutes the air I’m breathing.
I click my tongue and glance around. Aras, Magner, and Solo appear disgusted while standing behind a group of sickly-looking guards, whereas Alex, Varsha, and Safiya seem to be having a jolly-good time mocking the security personnel they have knelt before them. Heyman, to my surprise, hasn’t ejected a single drop of vomit from that vile mouth of his. Heis, however, giving me a glare that could most probably put acid to shame. Too bad there’s no antidote for someone like me.
Cigs is observing her surroundings with keen eyes and a visibly tired face. God, how I want to rush to her and force her into letting me get her some much-needed medical attention. I can’t, though, not now; I’ve got a job to finish. I know I’ve dragged Fred’s torture for a bit too long, but a man like him deserves the kind of hell I can serve, and good things take time, so naturally, this task is, too.
I let go of a breath and assess the guards, then whistle two short notes so that I can get their attention. “I don’t put on a show for just about anybody, so make sure you’re watching whatI’m doing, because you’re lucky to have gotten premier seats to my show.” And with that, I grab hold of Fred’s large intestine and yank it out of his body.
The organ – meshed with torn, bleeding tissues and slimy liquid – contracts and expands twice against my grip, then goes limp and slops sideways.
Fred doesn’t even twitch this time; his mouth simply distorts as if he were about to scream, and then he goes completely still.
Dead at last.
Fredrick Byron, CEO of theillustriousByron industries, has just taken his last breath, all thanks to yours truly.
I throw the slippery organ on Fred’s corpse and lean back on my heels. Looking up at my crew, I nod at Solo and Varsha, who immediately rack their pistols, chambering rounds.
The piercing sound of gunshots shatters through the heavy silence as one by one, Fred’s guards drop face-first into their own brain-matter and bile after Solo and Varsha blast open their skulls.
“No! Fucking no! Stop this at once!” Heyman screeches. “Take the stupid fucking gun away from my face!”
I’m about to turn and ask Chris to just shoot the goddamn asshole when his panicked voice rings out like an alarm.
“Whoa, hey! Hey! Give me my fucking gun back, Heyman!”
I swivel my head in their direction, and every fiber of my body locks up as I see Heyman stumbling to his feet with Chris’s wide-ranged pistol in hand – aimed directly at Cignette.
Chris grapples with the bastard, trying his best to snatch the pistol from him, but Heyman simply won’t give up. He shoves and punches through Chris’s offenses, and then, the inevitable happens: a gunshot is fired. With the weapon pressed so close between them, it was bound to go off.
My brain finally signals my legs to move, and I use Fred’s corpse as support to get off him, just as Chris cries out andsteps away from Heyman. The former’s stomach is punctured and bleeding from the bullet wound Heyman gave him. And the worst part? The bullet has exited through his back, likely having ruptured his spine.
Chris stares down at himself as he tumbles to the ground, blood leaking down his lips and onto his uniform. His chest rises once, falls, but then it doesn’t rise again. He’s dead, just like that.
“What the hell have you done!” Cignette screams at Heyman before limping over to Chris’s aid.
“Cigs, no!” I yell, running to her, but someone else beats me to it.
“Cigs, get back!” Alex races up to her, just as Heyman fires again.
It all happens so fast, yet so slow. One moment, I’m closing the distance between Cigs and I, and the next, Alex is beside her and is pulling her away from the oncoming bullet. But he’s a second too late.
Cignette howls in pain as Heyman’s shot rings true, catching her in the right arm.
My ears are buzzing; my head is heavy. Heat – red-hot, burning heat – climbs up my neck and glides down my body as I change routes and lock eyes with Heyman.
He drops the gun as if it’s caught fire, then turns to make a run for it, but a flashing blur bypasses his escape, tackling him to the ground.
Magner cages Fred’s lackey under him, then connects a resounding punch to his blubbering face before hauling him up to his misbalanced feet by the collar of his jacket.
I close the distance between Heyman and I, then briefly look to my left, where Alex is checking on Cigs.
“Little Swan?”
She brings her glimmering eyes to mine, then nods my way. “I’m fine, I promise; the bullet only grazed my arm.”
I grit my teeth as I look at Heyman once more. Magner steps away from him, but doesn’t go too far, in case the asshole tries to run from us again.
I grab Heyman’s trembling jaw with my soiled hand, then lean in and sneer at him. “I should cut you into a dozen pieces right now, IknowI should,” I say to him. “But you mentioned something about Fred being avenged; that there’s someone who might be willing to come to your aid. Yoursavior, perhaps.” I laugh. “So, what I want you to do now, Heyman, is to run to him. Run to your apparent messiah and tell himeverythingthat happened here tonight. Every. Single. Thing. And then tell him that Dorran motherfucking Ledger is right here in Anaheim in case he wants to chat, or better yet, have a good time. Will you do that for me?”
