How About Seven? ✔

28. Return From Darkness

There was a maelstrom of fire in my shoulder.

Emrys must not have had fired a gun before. The recoil made it go wild, the bullet digging deep into flesh and bone, ripping a scream raw from my throat as I all but buckled under the agony, knees crumpling.

The sound of the gun echoed round and round the empty warehouse.

I wanted to screech myself hoarse. I wanted to scream and scream and scream - oh the pain, the pain - !

Emrys had gone white. His fingers shook, and a flicker of doubt entered his eyes. His first shot had not hit the mark, it had not done its job, and now he would have to take another. If he had true intent to kill that would surely be no problem, he would keep firing that gun until I looked like a well-used target board. The question now was - did he?

I didn't care for the answer. I wanted to curl up in a little ball, crying myself until I had no more tears left in me, crying until my vocal chords gave up and left me mute; the beatings my father gave were nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to this. When Emrys walked near I heard it more than I saw it, and tried to lift my head. The bullet wound made everything hard; moving, breathing, living, existing -

"It came from here! The gunshot! This shop!"

The footsteps stopped coming.

The voice was probably just outside, maybe a few shops down max, but it sounded so far away. Emrys and I were in a little metal bubble of our own, empty saved for this whirlpool of physical torment and tears and the constant thought that it hurts, oh did it hurt.

A loud clatter, as the gun dropped and Emrys simply fled. I bowed my head, feeling the tears finally flowing down both my cheeks in a mixture of agony and relief. The old man, he must have walked out of his shop . . . breath of fresh air . . . seen the fallen grocery bags . . . police . . .

Metal shutters banged upward with force as black shoes came a-running in. They scattered to the back corners of the warehouse, men barking orders. I remained keeled over in my little corner, gasping as I tried to reel the pain in, my good hand pressing down on the wound as hard as I dared.

A pair of leather Louboutins came to a gentle stop inches away.

"Got yourself in a spot of trouble, did we, sweetheart?"

My heart sank. No no no, this could not be happening -

"Lucky for us you kept the ring on. Otherwise crime scene investigators would be the one discovering your dead body."

. . . Ring? I glanced down at my good hand. Now that the stone was mere inches from my face I could see it - the small tracking device embedded within, beeping with a light that melded perfectly with the musgravite's purple hue.

I should have known Jasper did not give free gifts.

"Shop clear!" someone yelled.

Another pair of shoes joined Jasper's brown ones. "There's an open door leading out the back, sir. He probably escaped that way. Should we pursue?"

The jewel on Jasper's ring finger gleamed as he twisted it between his long fingers. He'd gotten one of his own, an identical twin to mine. On his hands the crystal looked cold, sharp and deadly.

"No need."

A pause.

"I'll do it."

My head snapped upward. I tried to get up, couldn't, and clenching my teeth, dragged myself forward with my good hand across the dusty, dirt-streaked floor. Bloody fingers reached out to clasp themselves around Jasper's legs. He looked down, his lip curling back - in disgust, no doubt, as his mind wandered the various ways to punish me for allowing my blood to taint the luxurious silk of his dress pants.