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"Finally grew a pair, did you?"
"Grew a conscience, too."
Her chuckle was low, a rumble from the belly of the beast. "You think you can waltz in here and call checkmate?" She leaned forward, the light catching the ice in her eyes. "You're just a pawn, Christopher."
"Maybe. But pawns have a nasty habit of taking down queens when they’re least expecting it."
"Such big words," Priscilla taunted, cool as the grave. "I wonder if you have the balls to back them up."
"Guess you're about to find out," I shot back.
"Indeed," she hissed, her smile all teeth and malice. "Do your worst."
And fuck, if that wasn't exactly what I planned to do.
The corners of Priscilla's lips twitched, her cool mask giving way to a millisecond of something raw and unscripted. But hell, she was good, reassembling that icy composure with the ease of a practiced lie. Her finger flicked on the emergency button under her desk. She was trying to keep me talking so that the boys from the safe house down the street could make it to her before she bled out. I'd entertain her for a while. But as soon as I grew bored, it was game over.
"You know, Mom, I've hated you almost my entire life. It's crazy how the woman who birthed you is supposed to love you. And when she doesn't, it twists you into something ugly."
"You are as useless as your father, I should have killed you when you cried after your dog died."
"Fuck you, bitch. I'm going to strangle you."
"Is that so? You're out of your depth, boy. Delusions of grandeur." Priscilla leaned back, smug assurance etched into every line of her face.
She stretched like a cat in the sun, her spine popping with the motion. She settled back against leather that creaked under her weight, expensive and black as sin. "Well then, puppy," she drawled, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. "Show me what you got."
"My fuckin' pleasure." My voice was gravel, grinding out from a place deep and dark. A step forward, another. Each thud of my boot on the plush carpet a countdown to hell.
Priscilla eyed Ella and laughed. “Strange that such a mousey looking bitch made you so territorial. Tell me, Ella, does he piss on you too?”
“Shut the fuck up, or I’ll gut you like a pig.”
“My, my. You know, Ella, in all his years, my son has never been quite so protective over a girl. Must have a magical pussy.”
Ella stepped forward, a frown on her face as her palm landed square on Priscilla’s cheek, leaving a red welt. My heart swelled with pride. I should end her and be done with it, but I wanted to draw it out, to make her feel that panic as she realized there was nothing left for her on earth except her skin sliding across the blade of my knife.
Twenty: Ella
I watched her, the way Priscilla's fingers slid with cold precision under the mahogany desk, emerging with steel glinting in the dim light. My pulse hammered in my throat as she pointed the gun at Chris, her lips curling into a sneer.
"Doesn't matter what you fuckers do to me," she spat, "Cinder Crew... we're like a damn plague. Everywhere, every fucking corner of this shithole planet."
Chris stood motionless, his tattooed hands hanging loose by his sides, the black bandana pulled down to reveal his clenched jaw. A muscle ticked in his neck. The air was thick with tension.
A chuckle escaped my lips, bubbling up from a well of righteous anger deep within. Priscilla's eyes widened, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her cruel features. She hadn't expected laughter, not from little Ella, the caged little bird with clipped wings. But I wasn't that girl anymore.
Quick as a flash, my hand slipped into Chris', fingers wrapping around the cool metal of his knife as I pulled it from him. The weapon felt like power, as I palmed it.
"Surprise, bitch," I muttered.
Priscilla’s gun still trained on him, but her eyes, those dead, beady eyes, locked onto me.
"Stupid girl," she hissed. "You think you can—"
I lunged. The blade plunged into the soft flesh of her neck, a grotesque symphony of tearing skin and a gurgled scream that choked off as crimson erupted from the wound. Blood sprayed, a scarlet mist painting the mahogany desk, soaking the papers that spelled out countless lives ruined by her orders.
"Fuck!" I gasped, recoiling at the warm splatter on my face before smearing it over my skin like war paint.
