SO COLD (18+) currently editing

Chapter 68.6

SO COLD: 

"Shoot him."

The accomplice was a hot-blooded lion in heat; covetous for James' soul, and ardent for the splatter of glowing crimson across the aisle of tinned goods. His desire was sourced from a wayward and ungodly birthplace. Eyes that were of a dark, burnished colour flickered, raised to the gunman, seeking and finding the approval to empty out his round, and almost as if in agonisingly slow motion, his gaze dragged to the man on the ground before him, and his mouth curled up into a slow, depraved smile. Time sped up faster than I could draw in a breath. The grim reaper appeared, disrobing and placing the heavy, thick material over his shoulders. There was a hint of white teeth. His arm raised, finger against the trigger.

Cole was in a state of grief; terrified for the death of his greatest friend, masking his feelings with rage. His eyes settled on me briefly. He locked gazes with the gunman, stepping forward. "You'll be millionaires by the end of the night if the two live. I have cold cash. No online trace. And a private plane to a foreign country. Anywhere."

The accomplice stilled; intrigued by the offer.

The gunman laughed, humoured by Cole's desperate plea. "And your head?"

"It's inescapable." Cole's words were heavy, a guillotine in action, the sound of a casing tinkling on the floor.

My chest tightened with grief. "No!" I exclaimed simultaneously with James.

The gunman's hand on my throat squeezed and his warm breath brushed against my skin lightly. "Relax, doll-face." He murmured softly, shifting and pressing himself against my body. His thumb glided down my neck, and his arm fell, hand resting on my hip, holding me close to him, like a shield. He hummed under his breath, seemingly contemplating Cole's offer and then he said. "No. I want the lives of every man who serves under you and those you call family. You're going to suffocate on your grief, knowing you killed all those close to you. When I'm finished, your bloodline will be nothing more than a bastard child, fathered by me, birthed by your whore mother. That will be your legacy, King." His voice lowered to a caressing whisper. "If you're good with your mouth, I might spare you, doll-face," his implication was clear.

Cole's expression became chillingly cold. "I'll kill her myself before you touch her."

The gunman ordered, no longer in the mood for bargaining. "Shoot him–"

Unanticipatedly, the door flung open. There was a blind round of gunfire. Bodies dived to the floor. I tore away from the gunman, my cheek wet and uncertain as to why until a flash of white-hot pain tore up the side of my face. Behind an empty aisle, I touched the side of my head from where I was sat on the floor, and looked at my hand; my palm was a bloody smear. I felt faint.

The firing intensified in noise; Cole had retrieved his semiautomatic as the dust settled, and now fired with murderous intentions. The gunman returned fire. James was silent – unnervingly so. Irvin, upon his sudden arrival, was reloading his pistol behind a wall that listed the gas prices to oncoming traffic. The accomplice abandoned James, advancing on Irvin with a bullet in his shoulder, relentless. His expression was grim, determined. Blood soaked the front of his shirt.

Bottles of wine were hit and shattered. Toilet paper rolls cushioned some of the bullets. A Christmas cards display crashed to the ground. The gas station appeared ransacked; items had fallen, torn apart, exploded. It was a chaotic war-ground.

My left ear was blocked. I could hardly hear. A piece of flesh hung off the side of my head. I pushed my index finger into the bloody ear, attempting to clear it. I neglected the bloody lump as Irvin and the accomplice moved further away from the front door and rounded the back of the aisles until I found James' slumped body. He had been shot in the stomach. The wound had gushed; staining the floor. My knees crumpled under me. I pressed two fingers under his jaw, searching for a pulse. He couldn't be dead. I refused to believe it.

Stale air was trapped in my lungs. I exhaled in relief, thanking a god I didn't believe in as I found his weak pulse. Hurriedly, I tugged my top over my head, pressing the material against his wound and looking up to see a tense and bruised Cole ejecting the empty magazine and tossing his gun away. His expression was harsh, a splash of the gunman's blood was across his face and his fists were stained from where he had caved in the deceased man's skull. The devil's luck returned. He glanced in my direction, eyes falling on James. "I'll be back." He promised. I heard his shout to Irvin to not let the accomplice get away. SHOOT THE SONAFABITCH. SHOOT HIM.

There was a sound of an engine turning over, wheels on asphalt and Cole's furious and unhinged curses. "WHY DIDN'T YOU SHOOT!? YOU SHOULD'VE FUCKING TOOK IT." Irvin attempted to explain himself. I waited, listening in with an ear torn off, beaten. James' breathing weakened. Cole returned, blindsided with rage. "If he dies, you'll die, Irvin." Cole's anger was misdirected, his voice quiet and cold. His threat was set in stone.

Irvin's face paled.

*** 

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