Page 6 of The Stallion
Alec cleared his throat from behind me, and I quickly recoiled from my thoughts, realizing that I was now standing with my hands balled into tight fists at my side, not even registering that I had dissociated from the moment they restrained the target.Shit.
“Eager for the kill, are we, Red Magic?” Dustin intoned, extending the arm that held the gun. “That shouldn’t have surprised me, knowing the bloodline you were born into. By all means, if you need no explanation for this man’s crime against the MUR, please go right ahead.” The smirk on his face was pure evil.
Its been said that once his father gave him the keys to the mansion, Dustin no longer harbored a soul—all that power going straight to his fucked up head.
Some might even be so bold as to say his reign would be the most chaotic in the MUR’s history.
Confidently stepping forward, I took the magnum from Dustin’s hand and rounded behind the man who was still trying his damnedest to free himself from the chair.
Let’s fucking go!
Muffled, malicious grunts were all that came from my target’s covered mouth as the ropes and zip ties dug deeper into his skin.His wrists had turned deep red and purple from his constant struggle and strain.
I aimed the barrel of the gun at the back of his head, lining it up for the kill, inhaling a calming breath.
A single shot.
Point-blank.
Nothing simpler.
I pulled the trigger as I blew out my breath, and with a loud, ear-splitting bang, the man went limp in his chair, lifelessly sagging like a puppet without a master.
Once my ears had recovered from the incessant ringing, I could hear slow clapping coming from over my shoulder—and just like that, I had completed the first of my three tests.
I only hoped the next two would be just as easy…
Because I didn’t feel shit.
Chapter 3
Dallas
INITIATION:TESTTWO.
A fucking week and still not a single word from Alec regarding my next test. I was prepared to complete all three tasks like dominoes, falling one right after the other. But apparently, that wasn’t how this worked.
How could it take this fucking long to line up my following two targets?
Frustrated by the lack of communication and progression, I drove to my parents’ home to turn to the only person I knew would give me a straight answer—my father.
My childhood home wasn’t like most of the MUR residences. It was a typical two-story, single-family home with a backyard large enough for me to play catch with my father. Knowing what I know now, I wouldn't have had it any other way.
I was raised to be‘normal,’and while some families within the MUR choose to live a life of luxury, others prefer to stray away from it altogether.
As I strolled through the main entryway, I stopped at the foot of the staircase leading up to my childhood bedroom, taking a moment to reminisce about my past and all that made me who I am, as a person and as a legacy.
The walls going up were accented with family photos that my mother had taken throughout the years: baby photos, vacations we took as a family, sports photos, school photos; the last being my senior graduation, with my cap and honors tassel framed in a shadow box beside it.
This staircase alone held so many memories—our most recent family photo was always on display above the credenza near the front door.
A bright, bubbly voice called from the kitchen, and my attention was brought back to the present, hearing my mother calling me. A genuine smile spread across my face as I turned my head toward the sound of her voice. No matter how many memories that staircase may hold, my mother was the reason our house was a home.
“Dallas, is that you?”
“Yeah, Mom, it’s me. Is he home?”
“Out on the back patio with the newspaper. Can I get you anything?”
