𝐌𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

43 | A Different Hero In This Story

It felt like the world was leaving me behind, like I was frozen in place as I watched life carried on without me. Yet everything suffocated me and consumed me all at the same time. The black of the night felt darker than ever before and the city lights were almost blinding as I turned towards my fallen father, his pale blue shirt slowly turning red with the pooling blood.

Two gunshots went off at the same time and the two men standing opposite each other fell as each of them were hit. Dad fell straight back, the bullet hitting his chest with severe accuracy. Fucking cops and their fucking formal training.

Daniel fell to his side, holding his hand over the bullet wound as he stared at his torso profusely bleeding. He was badly injured but still alive. He didn't fall back like Dad did, he fell in a different direction, and he held his hand to the right side of his torso.

Dad was a good shot, he taught me how to shoot before I learnt how to drive. He was precise, exact and measured. He wouldn't have missed a fatal shot unless he was panicked, a last minute shot before he knew it was too late. Why didn't he kill him?

Unless he didn't fire the gun at all.

Footsteps crunched against the car park gravel quickly, a figure emerging from the shadows from where Daniel's bullet had originated; the bullet that didn't come from Dad's direction.

Dad didn't shoot Daniel.
Y/N did.

This all possibly ran through my head in about ten seconds, maybe longer, maybe shorter. I really have no perception of time right now. I saw Y/N run towards the club entrance to make sure none of the patrons heard the gunshots and Haz ran to Dad as I stood in the same spot. Completely still, like time had stopped.

Everything turned blurry, my sight tunnel visioned on Dad as I ran to him, falling to my knees. I don't remember thinking about running at all, I can't remember my legs moving or the cool wind against my skin as I sprinted. I just appeared next to him, like my body was on auto pilot. My hands were shaking over him as the air around me started to feel like I was drowning, like I couldn't get enough air in my lungs no matter how much I tried.

He was unresponsive as I shook his shoulders, trying desperately to get him to give me any sign of life; a glimmer of hope that he would survive this. I raised two of my fingers to his neck to feel his pulse against his carotid artery; nothing.

No pulse.
No life.
No Dominic Holland.

Haz's voice echoed around me as he grabbed either side of my face and told me 'we have to go' over and over again. I felt like I'd been hit by a truck and downed ten bottles of vodka in a row. Everything was loud, but I couldn't hear anything. Everything was spinning, and everything was fucked.

My cheeks were cold, I presume from the wind hitting my tears as I gently shut Dad's eyes closed. He deserved to leave this world like any other; by old age. But in this business I guess danger is eminent, I just didn't expect it to happen this way. Or this soon.

Haz pulled me up to my feet, telling me that the car was around the corner and Y/N would drive me home. Haz pulled my own car keys from my back pocket and told me that we needed to flee the scene before the cops came. He pushed me towards the car, telling at me to 'get out of here' as he frantically looked around.

I nodded, still completely delusional from the events I had seen play out in front of me. I nodded again, ensuring Haz I would go to the car and that Y/N would drive me home. I do not remember speaking but I heard the words come from my mouth. He slapped my face, not in an aggressive way but more of a man to man consoling way - although I couldn't feel my body anymore.

He ran to my car, unlocking it and driving out of the car park quickly, I turned back to see the club security surrounding my Dad and discussing amongst themselves what they would tell police when they arrived to the scene.

I turned around and saw Daniel. His body was limp as he coughed and spluttered blood, barely holding onto dear life as the bullet wound caused him to slowly die in front of us all. He was alive and my father wasn't.

"You mother fucking cunt!" I yelled, running across the car park and practically leaping onto him. I felt like I was watching myself tackle Daniel from a distance - an out of body experience like I wasn't in control of any of my actions.

I punched him. I punched him a lot.

His nose was bleeding. His mouth was pooling with blood. His lip was split. His cheekbone was shattered. His eyebrow was deeply cut. His teeth were chipped, cracked or missing. With every punch I inflicted more and more damage, my body completely numb to what I was doing.

I grabbed each side of his head, slamming it down into the cement repetitively, caving his skull in as I screamed at the man who killed my father; the coward who took away the greatest man I had ever known. Pulling the knife from my belt I plunged it into his chest, cracking his ribs and piercing his organs.

Again. And again. And again.

He was already dead. But I needed to feel something.

Y/N had come up behind me and attempted to pull me off him, yelling at me through messy tears that we had to go now; that we didn't have time. She pulled me to my feet but I managed to shake her off me, kicking Daniels corpse with every bit of strength I had left in me. She tried pulling at my arm, my back, my shoulder but to no avail I continued attacking Daniel.

At first my foot was colliding with his torso, slamming into his side before moving down to his legs, cracking his knees, the bones and cartilage audibly popping under my shoe. Before I knew it my shoe made impact with his head, crushing his skull even more now than it was before. He was now disfigured, broken, he was barely a human shell left to rot in hell.

When the police get here they will only be able to identify him through dental records, as they extract the broken teeth from the back of his throat and try to find each of his eyeballs from their sockets. You could barely piece together what he looked like anymore.

Good.

Y/N had one of the security guards pull me off Daniel once again and push me towards the car as I continued screaming at the sack of flesh laying on the ground. The piece of fucking shit that killed my father.

Y/N got in the drivers seat as the guard basically pushed me into the backseat, her speeding off through back streets as I hyperventilated. I couldn't be restricted inside the car right now, I had to be with my father. I had to be with my Dad. I slammed my hand against the car window demanding that we go back and save Dominic.

She was balling her eyes out as she drove, barely holding herself together. She had killed someone tonight. For the first time. And now she had to deal with me freaking out in the back seat.

I have to be strong. If not for me, for Y/N.

Dominic Holland doesn't deserve to be just another policeman's crime scene. He means more than a newspaper obituary or a breaking news television segment on 'yet another mafia boss' killed by a 'heroic' and 'mighty' federal agent.

Daniel is not the fucking hero in this story.

A/N: Well fuck. This was heavy to write. I'm sorry for anyone who got triggered by this, I don't really like putting trigger warnings at the beginning of my chapters considering the whole book could be triggering. But uh, wow I'm shaking after writing this