Stepbrother Thief(121)

Never thought I'd be using self-talk to convince myself to join a shoot-out, but … well, there it is.

Another breath.

My fingers curl tighter around the grip and I ready myself to head down the stairs.

Just as I'm about to take the first step, I hear boots slamming against the wood and, out of some long forgotten instinct, scoot to the side, back towards Solène's room. I wedge my body half behind the partially open door and peek out. From my current view, I can see straight across the second floor, past the decorative arch and the small sitting area to the back staircase.

Gill appears, blood draining over his temple and his right eye, a gun locked in his hands and a grim set to his lips. His eyes flicker to the main staircase and back down—chased from both sides.

I watch in fascinated horror as he lifts his weapon and fires off a pair of shots down the steps at the same moment two heads appear, jogging up the main staircase, right in front of me. Neither of the people that appear are wearing suits or sunglasses nor they do look like goons.

I lift my arms out in front of me, elbows relaxed, pulse pounding in my skull, competing against the violent ringing in my ears.

I almost hesitate because … these people look so normal. And maybe they're like Gill? Trapped in a web not of their own making? Just a man and a woman, one with short dark hair, the other with a slicked back sandy ponytail. Just two people.

But then they point their weapons at my stepbrother. At my first love. At my new love. My only love.

Shit.

I want to squeeze my eyes closed and fire blindly, hide myself away from all of this. But I can't. And I won't. I said before that I wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger if someone was threatening my family.

I meant it.

I aim at the man first, at the wide expanse of his back, sliding my finger inside the trigger guard.

One, two, three.

Deep breath.

I fire, knocking him forward against the railing of the stairs as the recoil hits me in the web of my hand and I take a small step back. Unconsciously, my eyes flick up and find Gilleon's, watch them go wide as he notices me standing there in the shadows. We stare at each other for a split second, but that's long enough for the woman to turn towards me, her long ponytail swinging as she brings her own gun up and looks for the second shooter in the room.

I'm sure she's had hundreds of hours of practice with her gun, struggled through dozens of situations just like this, but she doesn't expect me to be there, really doesn't expect me to bring the muzzle of the revolver up and aim it at her shoulder. I'm not entirely certain how I manage to get the shot off. Maybe it's the daisy dress or the blonde hair or the little girl's room silhouetted in shadow and moonlight behind me.

I'm sorry.

The thought pops into my brain at the same instant I pull back on that trigger a second time and hit the woman in her right shoulder. She gets a shot off, too, but the momentum of the bullet entering her body throws it off just enough that the drywall explodes to the left of me, just outside Solène's bedroom.

I feel like I've gone deaf, like I'm standing in the bell tower of a church listening to the ringing of God. My mouth goes dry; my grip loosens; I lower my arms.

Gill's moving towards me now, backing away from the second staircase as he reloads his gun, dropping a magazine to the floor and sliding one out of his pocket. He drags his gaze away for the briefest of seconds, lowering the pistol on my two assailants. I open my mouth to tell him to stop, but it's too late. He takes aim and makes the fatal shots I could never bring myself to fire.

The revolver drops from my hands and hits the floor like a scene in a silent movie. I can't even remotely hear the sound of it hitting the wood, not through the massive headache burning in my brain, the constant ringing in my ears.

Gilleon turns toward me, sucking in a massive breath that expands his chest in slow motion. His blue eyes are dark, so dark I can hardly make out his pupils, and the whites of his eyes … they're stark with fear. Feral.

“Regina.” I can see Gill's mouth moving to form the word, but the actual sound remains distant, like an echo underwater. The blood on his face drips down, reminding me of the cuts on my fingers. I lift my hand up and examine the red droplets at the same time I marvel at my luck. I managed not to blow my thumb off, not to get shot. Nothing short of a miracle.

A miracle that two people are lying dead in front of me?

No, no, a miracle that we're not lying dead in front of them.

I blink stupidly and try to shake away the shock, putting my hands over my ears.

Gilleon's there in an instant, wrapping his fingers around my wrists and gently pulling my arms down.

“Regi,” he says, voice cracking. I can barely hear him, but the worry in his voice is clear. “Mon cœur.” My heart. I glance up at Gill, unable to suppress a shiver at the feel of his fingertips pressing into my skin. That sort of thing shouldn't matter at a time like this, so why does it suddenly seem to matter so damn much?