He breathes out through his nose, "Well, I guess it doesn't really matter now. Your face is plastered next to his publically enough to create suspicion."
"Suspicion?"
Taking a step towards me, he shrugs, "Yeah. Unfortunately, wereallyneed Cormac back behind bars since he’s been so resistant to being put in the ground.”
I move back, fighting to keep my breathing calm through the undercurrent of the threat I can feel, "I don't see what that has to do with me."
Gaining on me with his slow steps, he tilts his head. "I really didn't want it to come to this, Miss Danaan. I hoped you would help me find him and I could take care of the problem without unnecessarybloodshed."
My chest caves in, my breathing coming in fast, frantic pants. The only thing keeping me from panicking completely is the cold steel cradled between my skirt and my rapidly heating skin.
"Look," I try one last time, hoping maybe I can keep him from attacking me. With all the theoretical practice I've had with violent guests, I still haven't actually pointed a gun at anyone. "I-I don't know where he is. I don't even know where he lives. But I can reach him."
He raises a brow in disbelief, "You'd turn on him, just like that?"
Hell no.
But every minute I keep him talking is a minute hopefully closer to Cormac making a grand appearance.
Unfortunately, this isn't a movie, and every second he doesn't appear leaves me more and more alone with this manic stranger.
"I promise you don't need to be scared," he assures me. "You'll just go to sleep. Totally painless. It'll be over fast."
Without waiting for another response, he lashes out, trying to grab me. Barely darting out of his grip, my instinct to run finally kicks in, sending me sprinting across the floor, forgetting in my haste about the fucking tights.
Making a turn around my furniture, I slip and nearly fall. The few seconds it takes me to catch myself are enough for him to reach me, slamming me into the wall.
My head ricochets off the siding painfully.
He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a syringe.
Fear takes over every thought in my head, making me act on impulse alone, begging and pleading pathetically, tears pooling, turning my vision hazy.
His hand wrapped around my throat keeps me immobilized, the pressure cutting off any hope I have of screaming or continuing to beg.
With shaking hands, I reach for the pistol, realizing it's now or never. Cormac isn't coming to save me. I'm going to have to do it myself.
He's just distracted enough with the syringe, using his teeth to take the lid off before spitting it to the side.
I quietly unclick the safety, praying to the universe that this will work and apologizing for having to do it.
With quivering lips and a horrified ache in my chest, I press it against his stomach and pull the trigger.
The sound registers for both of us before anything else.
I can see the shock in his face from the loud explosion, then watch it morph into one of exquisite pain and fear.
“What the fuck?” he mutters, stumbling away from me and putting a hand over the hole I just created in his body.
The syringe clatters to the floor only seconds before he does.
But I can't fucking move. Can't take my eyes or my aim off of him. Even through my hazy vision, I can see the red oozing out around him.
I’m not even sure how long I’m standing there over him, listening to his pained groans grow quiet until, distantly, I can hear someone calling my name.
But all I see is the man whom I sent a bullet through, cradling his stomach on the ground, eyes closed.
"Bunny," someone says. "Brigit, honey, look at me."
