Page 37 of Savage Saint
My hands are steady on the gun, muscle memory taking over. There's no time to think, no time to second-guess. My body knows what to do even if my mind hasn't caught up.
The bear rises to its full height, and I squeeze the trigger.
The gunshot cracks through the forest, shattering the heavy silence. Birds take off in the distance, as the sound echoes off the trees.
The bear's massive form crashes to the ground with a sickening thud that shakes the forest floor. Leaves scatter in its wake, dancing through the air before settling around its still form. Blood pools beneath its head where my bullet found its mark. A perfect shot right between the eyes.
Smoke curls from the barrel, a thin wisp that disappears into the cold air. My hands don't shake. They should, shouldn't they? I just killed a bear. One shot. Clean. Perfect.
The gun feels lighter now, almost like an extension of my arm. Natural. Right.
Who the hell am I?
The bear's final twitch stills, and silence descends on the forest once more. No birds. No rustling leaves. Just the echo of the shot fading into nothing.
The bullet found its target with surgical precision, as if my body knew exactly where to aim, how to account for wind resistance. Muscle memory that speaks to years of training.
But I don't remember any of it.
The bear lies motionless, its massive form a dark mountain against the forest floor. One shot was all it took. One shot that saved both our lives.
An instinct engrained deep in my psyche.
I lower the gun, my finger automatically moving to click the safety back on. Another movement that feels too familiar, too ingrained.
Angelo's eyes snap open. For a moment, he remains perfectly still, processing. Then his head turns, taking in the massive form of the bear sprawled across the forest floor, the precise bullet hole marking its final moment.
He exhales. A long, steady breath that seems to carry the weight of his earlier surrender with it. His shoulders shift, as if shaking off the remnants of whatever darkness had gripped him moments before.
Then his gaze lands on me. Sharp. Measuring. Gone is the man who stood waiting for death. In his place stands someone else entirely, someone whose eyes strip away all the layers I've had myself wrapped up in without even trying.
The gun in my hands suddenly feels like evidence rather than a weapon.
"You've done this before." It's not a question. His voice carries the weight of certainty, of pieces clicking into place.
I can't help but agree with his statement. This couldn't have been beginner's luck. I stare at the bear's massive form, at the precise shot that ended its life. One bullet. That's all it took.
My finger traces the cool metal of the barrel absentmindedly. Every motion feels practiced, ingrained. Like I've done this a thousand times before.
"That was too easy," I whisper, the words escaping before I can stop them. They hang in the air, heavy with truth.
The forest seems to hold its breath, waiting. I can feel Angelo's eyes on me, watching, assessing. But I can't look at him. Not yet. Instead, I stare at my hands. Steady, sure. Hands that know exactly how to end a life.
First Antonio's throat beneath my fingers, and now this. The violence comes too naturally, flows through me like blood through veins.
"I don't think I'm a good person."
The words hang in the air between us, raw and honest. They should hurt more to say, shouldn't they? But they don't. They just feel true.
I loosen my grip on the gun, its weight a constant reminder of what I am. What I must have been. My knees give out, and I sink to the forest floor, the damp earth seeping through my clothes.
Angelo doesn't move to help me. His silence speaks volumes, a confirmation I wasn't ready to hear.
The gun falls beside me with a soft thud. I stare at my hands, searching for some sign, some mark that would explain the violence that lives in my bones. But they look ordinary. Deceptively delicate. Like they haven't just taken a life with terrifying precision.
"I know," Angelo finally says, his voice a low hum that barely disturbs the stillness.
Two simple words that crack something inside me. Not because they hurt, but because they don't. Because they feel like the truth. Cold and clean and absolute.
