MAXWELL'S POV:The bullet tears through Kier's shoulder and he screams.His whole body jerks sideways, spine twisting, knees buckling. The knife flies from his grip and clatters across the concrete floor, spinning once, twice, three times before it stops. Kier's mouth hangs open, his eyes wide, his face the color of old milk. Blood pours between his fingers where he clamps his hand over the wound, hot and dark, dripping onto the floor in fat, wet splashes.I keep my arm straight. My finger stays on the trigger. My gaze stays locked on the spot where the bullet entered, right below his collarbone, exactly where I aimed.He stumbles backward, his boots scraping against the concrete. His head whips toward me, and for one heartbeat, his eyes meet mine. There is nothing in them. No rage. No cunning. Just a raw, empty shock, the look of a man who walked into a room certain he was the predator and just realized he was prey the whole time."Drop the knife," I say.The knife is already on the
Last Updated : 2026-06-11 Read more