“Stairwell’s clear.” Dawson rushes out from behind me, appearing with Regina at his side.
Dad confirms he’s one floor below us, and we all move towards the double doors, the guys having to kick them open from the barricade they’ve tried to lock themselves in with. I try to join, but then my vision sways, my eyes having to forcefully blink it away.
Footsteps thump behind me, all of us turning with our guns aimed, but lower when we see who it is. “Son,” my dad greets me, clasping my shoulders as his eyes reflect like glass.
“You ready?” I ask him, keeping my voice low.
He’s waited over sixteen years for this day.
He gives me a tight nod, and when the doors open, we’re hit with a burst of cold air, the rain beating down violently as the storm hits its peak. Dad, Rex and I lead the way, the lights jumping through the rain as we make our way up the stairs.
I don’t know if it’s the altitude or what, but the dizziness is intensifying. Fuck, I can’t pass out and miss this.
Dad holds his hand out, mouthing for us to stay put while he creeps up ahead. Malcolm might have been out of the game, but the man has never had his tactical skills leave him.
A shot cracks through the air, and we all follow as he rushes onto the roof, roaring in the wind and rain. I can’t make out a fucking word he’s saying with the buzz in my ear, but I don’t need to. My eyes already give me the answer.
The Judge is on his knees, and George frantically paces back and forth, until Dawson shoots him in the shoulder.
My dad hands his gun to Rex when we approach, leaning over to grip the Judge and pulling him close to his chest. “Not so fucking smug now, are you?”
The Judge squirms to break free from my father’s grip. “Get your fucking hands off me!”
A darkness I’ve never seen takes over Dad, the control he’s always had a firm hand on snapping. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment?Sixteen fucking years!”
His roar could rival the storms. The woodland surrounding us shudders from the pain in those three words alone.
Both get into a verbal battle, and I swing my unsteady gaze to Dawson standing like the soldier he was in a past life, gun primed to shoot at George, who’s rolling around like a wimp and gripping his shoulder.
Indie walks up and whispers into Regina’s ear, who’s standing like a ghost, mirroring the same look of horror I saw on Indie’s face at the manor, but whatever she’s telling her, it’s keeping Regina from plummeting into the same void.
When I close my eyes, they feel heavy, the black licking at the edges.
“Your manor is ablaze, your clients and associates are being hunted down. Your entire society is falling as we fucking speak,”my dad roars each fact at the Judge. The life they’ve kept so well hidden, kept indulging in for their sick fucking pleasures, has his already pale face turning ashen.
“And now I want you to watch as I take the last of your name, and after this? Your other son will be hunted down and made to pay for the sins of his father. You have nothing left.”
Regina stares down at George, inching closer to him with a vice-like grip on the gun.
George laughs up at her, and my swimming gaze lands on Dawson, whose finger is flexing over the trigger. “You two just can’t keep away from my brother and I, can you?”
This little cunt’s words have got the hackles standing up on my neck, but I wouldn’t be able to do anything right now. I’m fighting the inevitable back here.
My hand brushes against my side. It’s soaked as it mixes with the blood and rain, and when I turn my palm up, the blood runs off the side.
“Gina?”
She doesn’t respond to Dawson; she’s in a trance, looking up towards Indie for reassurance.
A scuffle next to me has me stumbling backwards to see my dad, who’s got the Judge pressed to his front, his leather-gloved hand gripping his face so he watches what’s about to happen to his heir.
“We had a good time, didn’t we, Gina?” George coughs, blood spilling over his chin.
These fucks just don’t know when to stop, even on the brink of death.
And that’s all it takes.
She unloads the gun into him, the Judge’s roar breaking through each time a bullet leaves the chamber, until she’s rapidly clicking against the trigger, running on empty.
