Splinters of You (Retired Sinners MC #1) - Anne Malcom Page 0,106

muttered before angling it ever so slightly and pulling the trigger.

I noticed details. So I noticed he had a Walther P99 tucked into his jeans. That gun didn’t have an external safety. And since he wasn’t smart but was bloodthirsty, it would’ve been loaded.

His screams echoed through the room. I managed to keep hold on the gun as he stepped back, blood quickly staining the front of the jeans. It was a lucky shot, right in the balls. The hammer clattered to the floor. It didn’t make a loud enough sound, considering what it had done to me. What it had taken.

But no matter, the screams were loud enough.

Loud enough to catch the Nord’s attention.

He turned around the see his “brother” rolling around on the filthy floor, clutching his crotch, crying.

He didn’t look surprised, or worried. I noticed there was no love lost between these guys, but fuck, this was ice cold.

He did not seem at all concerned that my shaking hand was pointing a loaded gun at him. The one I’d used to neuter his brother.

Maybe because the hand was shaking. Sweat was pouring down my face. My mangled hand lay limp underneath duct tape.

“Ah, you saved me from having to do that.” He nodded down.

I gritted my teeth. The gun should’ve gone off by now. I should’ve pulled the trigger. No point in acting like the stupid girl now, holding on to morals about killing another human. I fucking hated it when they did that shit in movies, make someone have some crisis in the middle of the scene where they could blow away the bad guy. Though, I was usually rooting for the bad guy. They didn’t pretend to hesitate. To be noble. Neither did I. So why was I doing it now?

Nord hadn’t pulled his gun. Hadn’t advanced on me.

He was waiting, seeing what I would do. Toying with his life. Unless he was quicker to the draw than an author tied to a chair, with only one working hand.

It made sense.

So, I should pull the trigger.

But I didn’t. I was too interested. Even now, the curiosity might just kill the horror author.

“You going to shoot my balls off too?” he asked conversationally, curiously. “Because I think it was a fluke.” His eyes looked to the man lying in the pool of blood, who was no longer screaming. Was it fourteen percent of his blood on the floor? Or just one hundred percent of his manhood?

“No, I think I’m going to go for a larger surface area,” I replied, voice cold, shaking slightly. I was likely going into shock. Having all the bones in the hand broken with a rusty hammer would do that to a girl.

“They’re coming,” he said.

“Who?”

“Saint. What remains of the club. Though this chapter, I think, is done.” He paused. “Unless someone else feels like taking the gavel.”

I scowled at him, the gun heavy in my hand, but I kept it steady. For now. There was only so long I could do this dance for. I’d have to pull the trigger eventually.

“Like you?” I asked. “You want that president’s patch?”

He smiled. Although it should’ve looked great on his handsome face, it gave me a strong urge to vomit. “No. I have no designs for leadership. I am merely repaying a debt.”

I clenched my teeth. “A debt that means not killing me?”

He nodded once.

“And you couldn’t have killed the pig before he smashed up half my hand?” I asked, fury leeching into my words like acid.

“No,” he replied simply.

I waited for him to explain more, even though I knew this was not a man to explain himself if he didn’t want to.

“Are you going to kill me?” he asked.

I thought on it. I was well within my rights, legally, I guessed. He could very well decide to shoot me at any moment. Self-defense. And there was the fact he was part of an outlaw motorcycle group, kidnapped a prominent American literary figure, and watched as she was tortured. No, they’d barely even question me.

It was easy, pulling the trigger. This was not a good man. He deserved to die, for sure. If his word was owed to someone else, he would’ve killed me without remorse.

But I lowered the gun anyhow. I was a sucker for the villain.

He looked surprised. Interested. Not exactly glad.

“As you wish.” He glanced toward a dirty, stained window. “It shouldn’t be too long. Though they will be riding in, expecting to save the day. You’ve already done that.” He