Chapter 28 #2
Fallon’s sleek black shoe whispers across the wood floor as he takes a step back.
My pulse skitters, a strange disquiet winds up in my middle, and every nerve ending snaps into overdrive.
My hearing, my vision, my sense of smell, spark with clarity.
Fabric rustles in the silent room as he extends his arm holding the gun, and aims for my head.
I take a step back, blinking at the end of the barrel.
He holds up the stopwatch, his thumb hovering over the top button.
“Sixty-seconds to assemble the weapon before I fire,” he says. His thumb lowers.
The ticking crashes through the silent room.
I stand dumbly, staring at the gun aimed at my face as the seconds tick by.
“Move,” he barks, and I jolt. “Forty-seconds, Delilah.”
I hesitate for a split second, then move on instinct, and snatch up the slide and the barrel.
My hands shake so hard, I drop the pieces.
Grabbing them again, I take a deep breath, then drop the barrel into place and lock it back.
Then I pick up the recoil assembly, but as I try to slip it into place, my sweaty fingers slip and it pops free.
“Dammit,” I hiss, the word frayed.
I bite my lip, reminding myself he’s not really going to shoot me, but just as the thought passes through my mind, the clock rings and a quiet pop echoes in the room.
The distinct sound of glass cracking and then shattering fills my ears.
Every single muscle in my body seizes with terror.
The scream trapped in my throat nearly chokes me.
“Time’s up,” Fallon says.
I grip the table, barely able to move as my mind processes what just happened.
He shot at me.
No, not at me. He purposely shot past me.
“You failed to assemble your weapon in time,” he says. “You’re dead.”
Tears prick my eyes.
Fallon uses the gun to gesture to the next weapon. “Continue.”
My body unfreezes one limb at a time as the realization I have to do this again, with less time, leaves a trembling numbness in its wake. My legs wobble as I robotically slide to the next gun.
“You have fifty seconds.” He adjusts the clock and then holds it up again so I can see the face. He presses the button. The hands tick forward. Fear licks a path up my spine, acidic and nearly paralyzing.
“Forty-five,” Fallon says.
I grab the next weapon and begin assembling it, but I’m shaking harder now, my hands slick with sweat.
Beads of perspiration slip down the small of my back.
I take a breath and focus on the task, trying to block out the sound of the clock and the fact he has a loaded gun aimed at me.
I fail on all counts, my whole body trembling.
“Faster,” he barks and then seconds later, “You’re dead.”
The bullet whizzes past my head, and another pane of glass splinters, then shatters. A choked sob escapes, and I drop the pieces of the gun to the table. They clatter and skid off, hitting the floor at his feet.
“There is no room for error,” he says. I meet his eyes, hating he can see how terrified I am. Hating that I’m forced to do this. Be here. In this room. In this fucking nightmare. Fallon holds up the watch. “Again.”
He presses the button, and the clock ticks.
My insides grow cold. He needs me so he won’t shoot me. Doubt darkens the thought, lingering in the back of my head as each second ticks by. He would have killed his son.
He could very well kill me.
Grinding my teeth, I snatch up the next slide and angrily drop the barrel into place, locking it in faster than before.
Barely thinking, barely able to hear past the pulsing heartbeat in my head, I grab the recoil and line it up with the rails.
Right as I’m about to slide it in place, the clock rings.
Another bullet shatters a pane of glass in the window behind me.
I slam the gun onto the table, tears burning my eyes.
“Fuck you!” My scream crashes through the room.
Fallon lowers the gun and marches forward.
I recognize the deadly intent, the hateful gleam in his eyes.
Even though the color is so much lighter than Reaper’s, his eyes glimmer with the same hostility.
It’s so startling that I stumble back as he stalks around the table.
When he reaches me, I attempt to dart away, but he grips the collar of my sweater and raises a hand, rearing it back.
I flinch, waiting for the hit. But he grips my cheeks and pulls me to him. My hands land on his chest.
“You’re weak,” he seethes, spittle landing on my cheek.
Ripping away, I scream, “And you’re a coward.” That rage that’s been bubbling inside breaks free, and I shove at his chest. He doesn’t move an inch. “Is this how to train your soldiers? By terrifying them?”
“Fear breeds one of two things,” Fallon says, his voice dropping to a cool, even tone. “It either creates the will to survive or it hunts down the weak and swallows them alive.”
“And how many of your soldiers ended up with a bullet through their heads?” I grate out, my heart thumping so wildly I can barely breathe. “How many failed to survive you?”
Fallon’s eyes narrow. “Those that were removed gave in to fear.”
I stumble back at the hidden meaning of his words. They aren’t threats, just as Reaper said. He really intended to kill Striker if they continued to disobey. The reality explodes through me, red-hot in my veins.
“They were little boys,” I shout. My chest heaves with each breath as rage pushes out all logic. I rise onto my tiptoes, my face inches from his, so full of hatred I’m engulfed in flames. “You took little boys and terrified them.”
“I turned them into strong soldiers,” he says. “I saved them.”
Everything I know about the men crashes through my head, thundering and rattling like a freight train. He’s insane. Completely sadistic with a fucking savior complex.
“You’re delusional,” I hiss, and the next few words slip out laced with venom. “How many boys have you saved? How many boys have you killed?”
Fallon’s eyes gleam dangerously. “I knew they failed with you,” he says, each word punctuated with pure, uncontained hatred. “I never should have listened to them. They let their feelings cloud their judgement. And now look at you. No self control. Zero discipline. You are useless.”
All the fire roiling inside me boils over. The anger at being trapped here, the intense fear that I’m going to mess up and the men will be hurt, the feeling of being so helpless. It all explodes out of me in a chaotic burst.
Taking a step back, I fling my arms out. “Then fucking shoot me! You have at least a dozen other soldiers to send in my place. If I’m so fucking useless, end me!”
Fallon’s jaw pops and he raises the gun, aiming at my chest. My heart rattles my bones. He’s right. Fear breeds bravery or finds weakness. And apparently, stupidity.
Seems I’m the latter.
Stupid beyond measure to dare this killer to end my life.
My heart races wildly, each thud sending torrents of blood whooshing through my head, pounding relentlessly against my skull.
I clench my jaw, teeth grinding as I brace myself for it.
For the quiet pop of the bullet. For the pain as the bullet tears through me, and end this fucking nightmare. Anything.
He moves forward, and the barrel digs into my chest. I stop breathing, and we stand, eye to eye, unmoving, unspeaking for what feels like an eternity.
Refusing to back down, I meet his cold gaze. “Do it,” I say between clenched teeth.
Ice-colored eyes bore into me. Then he lowers the gun, setting it carefully on the table. I release a slow, shaky breath, my teeth clenched to keep my chin from trembling.
“You, Delilah Gavin, need to learn better survival skills.” Fallon leans in, so close I can see the faint wrinkles around his eyes, the clean-shaven skin along his strong jaw.
“Because Rune Gavin will eat you alive and spit out your bones the second he realizes you lived up to your namesake. And once he’s destroyed you, he’ll tear down all the bloody pillars holding up his castle, not caring who gets crushed within its walls. ”