The first gunshot—the one that hadn't come from me—echoed through the warehouse.
My heart slammed against my ribs, and instinctively, my free hand flew to my stomach.
I was still standing.
So was Elias.
Elias stiffened. His head whipping toward the door as he searched for the new threat. In that split second, he forgot the most dangerous person in the room was behind him.
That I was still armed.
That the gun in my hand was still pointed directly at his head.
I stared at the back of his head, my vision tunneling until all I could see was the man who had engineered every ounce of my suffering.
This was it.
This was the moment.
I could end it. Right here.
All the pain he had poured into my mother's life.
I thought of Kieran, a boy stolen from his mother and turned into a weapon for a man who didn't even share his blood.
I thought of the woman on the floor, battered and bruised, robbed of thirty years of motherhood.
