The First Shot Novels & Stories

I whisper, because I don’t know what else to say. He tilts his head, his eyes flicking between mine. “You don’t have to say anything,” he tells me softly. “Just… be here.” So I do. I let myself be here. Just for now. Just for this small piece of time that feels untouched by everything else. Then it happens. The first shot cuts through the air like a crack in glass. Then another. And another. The sound echoes across the cliffside, sharp and violent, and the quiet we had just seconds ago dies in an instant. My body stiffens before my mind even catches up.

Maybe, I just showed him that I didn't need his protection all the time. "There's no one else I'd rather be stuck with right now, than you." I returned his smile. "Ready?" His finger sat on the trigger, ready to be pulled. I did the same. I nodded. "Ready." We both revealed ourselves from behind the desk, repeatedly firing shots. One fell. So did another. And so did another. Considering this was my first time shooting anyone, point blank range, I seemed to be doing a good job. Despite them shooting to kill, I prayed that I only shot to injure. There was already too much blood on my hands.

Elijah, at only seven, ran close behind her, his small legs moving as fast as they could. Father embraced Adam first, his eldest son, with a firm hug before sweeping Mother and Bella into his arms, showering them with kisses. He clasped Elijah close and then turned to me, his eyes briefly meeting mine. There was joy in his gaze-or perhaps relief-but there was something else too: a shadow, a sadness that lingered even as he smiled.

* --- It happened faster than anyone could have anticipated. Klarisse was in the library, flipping through an old family photo album when she heard the **first shot**. *POP!* Her heart stopped. *"Allie?"* she called out, her voice trembling. But before she could move, the door burst open, and **chaos** erupted. **Men.** Armed, masked, and moving with deadly precision. **Mercenaries.** Klarisse’s breath caught as they stormed in, their guns raised. **Enrico.**

I'd barely had time to slap a bandage over it. But it wasn’t the wound that was eating at me. It was the way everything had gone down. The night still looped in fragments in my mind, almost unreal. Alejandro. The gun. Damon behind me. My knees pressing into cold concrete. Alejandro’s finger tightening on the trigger. The click of death waiting. And then the first shot rang out. I didn’t feel anything at first—no pain, no impact. I thought I was dead already. But then I turned.

I forced my head up, my vision tunneling, locking onto her. She wasn’t frozen in shock. She wasn’t paralyzed by fear. No. She moved. Francesca had barely turned the gun toward her before Viviane raised hers. She fired. The first shot hit Francesca in the shoulder, spinning her to the side. The second slammed into her chest, staggering her. The third, fourth, fifth, Viviane didn’t stop. Francesca gasped, her body jerking with every bullet, her eyes wild with shock, and pain. Viviane emptied the clip into her.

Scarcely a whisper. "Get in the car," I whispered under my breath. The driver did not hesitate. But before I could act — lights. Blinding. Bright. A black van careened around the corner, tires screaming. Doors flung open, masked men poured out like a tide. I did not stand there. I did not panic. I pulled my gun before they touched ground. First shot, dead centre into the first man's leg. He screamed and fell. They charged, but they were not anticipating me to fire back this fast.

Then the distorted voice came again, soft but sharp as a blade. “Begin.” The first shot cracked the air. And the field exploded. The crack of the first shot split the air, and the whole world went off like a powder keg. “Down!” I roared, shoving Nova and Isla flat to the dirt as bullets screamed past. Blade yanked Rafe like a human shield, cursing loud enough to drown the thunder. “Told you it was coming, Cruz!” “Shut up and move!” I fired back, my gun barking in my fist, dropping the closest Outrider.

He let out a wicked laugh, his face terrifying—a shameless, middle-aged man. But before Maximillian could move, the sound of the first gunshot echoed loudly in the silent night. Olivia gasped. Oscar was capable of anger and shooting. Time seemed to slow as she watched blood begin to flow from Maximillian’s arm. Oscar was not playing games. Oscar still held the pistol, his eyes sharp, as if their hope for survival depended on that one shot. A second gunshot broke the silence. This time, the shot hit Maximillian’s shoulder. It was a warning shot, a decisive blow that made Maximillian stagger.

That I wouldn't be there for her first smile, her first word, her first steps. That Dominic had won. And then— The sound of a gunshot ripped through the air.