Page 32 of The Heir
In an instant, everything moves too fast. And all hell breaks loose.
Ella rounds the corner at Roman's gesture, and the bone-rattlingcrackof a gun rings out. Pain explodes and blooms in my chest—a ragged inhale forces its way out of my lips, and Melody's head whips around with an anguished scream. She fires at the movement, and Ella shouts in pain.
Blood.
My blood? No. It can't be.
Blood sprays from Ella's shoulder, and she clamps a hand over the wound, huffing out panicked breaths.Melody screams again, firing the rifle wildly, but Roman yanks it from her grip.
Roman?
He turns the gun on me and gives me a pitying smile. No. No, no, no—he set us up. Oh, my god, he set us up.
As quickly as I can, I aim at Ella and pull the trigger. Again and again. Melody lunges at Roman, and the last remnants of glass shatter from the windows.
Ella drops to the floor with a whimper, and Melody struggles with Roman. I stand frozen, my gun hot and heavy, while I gasp out breath after breath. Melnyk tumbles through the window, and I can finally move, I can finally breathe.
"Roman betrayed us!" I scream, trying to be heard above the clash. "Get Ella!"
Melnyk scurries towards her, but she aims a kick between his legs. He crumples to the floor, groaning in pain. I launch myself at Roman, pushing Melody away, wrenching the gun from his hands.
"You?" I gasp out. Melody snatches the gun from me and aims it at Ella.
"Me." Roman grins, blood pouring from his forehead. I don't know how he got cut—I don't know what happened. "Sorry,sir. If it's any consolation? I've always fucking hated you."
He headbutts me, and I feel my nose crack under the impact. Groaning, I tighten my grip around him andforce him to the floor. Warm copper floods my mouth as I bare my teeth and circle my hands around his neck. The cocky smile drops from his face as he claws against my hands.
The rest of the world falls away as I strangle my best friend. My oldest friend. My most loyal companion. Roman. His icy blue eyes turn bloodshot as he fights me every step of the way. His skin is slick with sweat, and so is mine. Salty tears pour down my cheeks and mingle with our blood.
Wheezing breaths force their way from his throat, but I clamp down harder. Something clatters around us, but I can't tell what it is. I can't see anything but the life slipping away from my best friend's eyes. His lips twist in a hateful grimace as he swings his arms around, trying to dislodge me in any way he can.
But he can't.
He can't.
Another loudcrackrings out, and a red, gory hole blooms in his forehead. His body stills beneath me.
Everything in my peripherals rushes back. I'm holding the corpse of my best friend against the floor, my hands won't leave his neck, and my wife stands above us. My wife. Melody.
She holds a smoking gun, still pointed at Roman. Tears flow down her cheeks, too, as I look up at her.
"I'm so sorry," she whispers. Her brown eyes overflow with tears, and then time slows down. Her eyes lose their focus as a heavy beam of wood hits her on the side of the head, forcing her mouth open in a shocked expression.
Rafaella stands behind her, panting and wheezing as blood pours down her leg. She limps closer with a pained grimace and raises the board again. I can't move fast enough, but I scramble to my feet and lunge between the women, blocking Ella from hitting my wife again. Melody lets out a tiny grunt and collapses to the floor.
"No!" I bellow, turning my back on Ella. "Melody!"
"Bad move, Dante," Ella snarls. Splintering pain erupts from the back of my head—I feel it in my teeth, down my arms—my nerves are on fire. I don't have the time to react before she pummels me again, and it all goes dark.
I'm vaguely aware of water dripping somewhere. The rhythmic sound is constant. Every few seconds,drip. And something's stuck in my arm—I feel the invading pinch of an IV. Is that the drip? Did Roman hook me up to some saline? Did I lose blood?
Wait. Roman. Grief shoots me through the heart, and I swear I feel the stabbing pain crash through me. My oldest friend, my best friend. Roman betrayed us, and he's dead. He's dead, and I'll never speak with him again. Letting out a tiny groan, I try to wipe the grime from my face, but something cold and unyielding stops me. The IV line jiggles in my vein as I try to maneuver my arm, sending a tiny pang of nausea into my gut.
The itch of crusted, dried blood on my face irritates me as I try to work out how my arms are restrained. I still can't see anything—my eyes feel gummy and dry, and blinking doesnothing. As my consciousness slowly seeps back in, I realize there's a blindfold around my face.
"What the fuck?" I whisper, trying to rub my face against something. Anything. I need to see where I am; I need to see what the hell is going on.
"You're awake! Good!" A familiar feminine voice pierces my eardrums—god, why is it so loud?
