And that’s when it hits me. It must have come loose while we were wrestling around on the floor. And it must hit Tristan too, because we both see it, abandoned on the floor, closer to him than it is to me.
And before I can make another move, I hear Tristan’s gun click.
I blink and my eyes drag up to him, seeing exactly what I am expecting. The barrel of a Ruger .357 pointed directly between my eyes.
I don’t question whether or not Tristan is a good shot.
“This is déjà-vu,” he sniggers.
“What is?”
“You have the same look in your eyes as Nik did. The last time I saw him. The last time he was alive.”
I swallow hard. Normally I wouldn’t let him talk to me this way. I wouldn’t let anyone talk to me this way. But right now I am at a disadvantage. The gun has me frozen in place. And his words are just as paralyzing, if I am being honest.
Because I wasn’t there where Nik died. Maverick told me Nik was with Tristan and they were going to race. I hated the racing. I hated Tristan. So I drove to the bay area as fast as I could. But when I got there, it was too late. I saw the mangled car first, laying on its top, on fire.
Then I saw Nik. It was too late.
“He knew he was dying.” Tristan’s words slice into my thoughts. “Might have been saved… but I let him go. And now it’s your turn.”
I bolt towards him. Loaded gun or not, I don’t care.
A shot rings out.
I stop. It feels like the wind has been knocked clean out of me. But it’s just shock.
Tristan cries out moments later and my brain scrambles to figure out what the hell is going on.
“You sick fuck.”
Mav.
He walks up behind me, his gun still on Tristan, who is cursing and writhing on the floor while bleeding from his thigh.
I give him a nod. “Thanks for the assist.”
“It wasn’t for you.” Maverick smiles, sharp and sad at the same time. “It was payback.” He spares a glance at Tristan, who is writhing on the floor, trying to breathe through the pain. “For trying to kill me. And for Nik.”
I walk over and grab my gun off the floor, coming down quickly off of the adrenaline. I pull it back and turn to Tristan, closing the space between us until I am standing right over him.
If I give it time, he’ll bleed out. That bullet hit an artery for sure. But I’m not giving him the luxury of a slow bleed out. Not after everything he’s taken from me.
“Pasmotri na menya, Chadovich.”
Look at me.
His eyes flash up to mine. It’s a look I’ve seen many times before. I have killed many men in my life. More than I can count. More than I ever wanted to. But that was different. They were collateral. Their deaths were gag orders. Leverage. This one is revenge.
And he knows it.
The look in Tristan’s eyes isn’t just that of fear. It’s defeat.
For the first time, I am going to enjoy killing someone.
I pull the trigger and plant a bullet right in the middle of Tristan’s forehead. Only one.
He doesn’t deserve anything more.
