Veils of Rivalry Chapter 82

Blaise's POV

I’m convinced he’ll pull the trigger—his finger threatens to—but he chuckles instead before the pistol whips me with such brutal force that my head snaps to the side. I laugh, delirious. If I’m going to die at the hands of a crazy fuck, I might as well show him my true colors.

He might be a drunk whose life spiraled out of control until there was nothing left but ashes, but I don’t accept defeat. And I certainly don’t lose.

“You’re pathetic.” I’m still chuckling, and his eyes darken with anger. “You want to kill me. Do it.”

“With fucking pleasure,” he growls, cocking his gun and lifting his arm.

I launch myself at his ankles, and we crash to the ground. Malcolm tries to kick me, but I’m soon on top of him, fighting to steal his gun. It’s easier said than done. I’m bleeding profusely, my ribs throb with each inhale, and my strength is waning.

A shot goes off, sending birds erupting from nearby trees. Grabbing his wrist, I bang it against the ground. Again and again. The weapon drops from his fingers, but before I can get it, he throws me off, picks it up, and aims it at my head. I barely manage to roll out of the way before he pulls the trigger.

“Shit!” I curse, jumping to my feet and sprinting for cover behind the burning vehicle. It’s too fucking hot, and I’m scared to get too close in case it explodes. Any moment now, it could go boom.

“Stop hiding, you faggot.”

Clutching my sore arm, I wince when my hand comes away slick with blood. I was too high on adrenaline to realize or even feel the pain when he shot me. I doubt he hit an artery, but it’s still bleeding heavily.

I lean back against a tree and rest my head against the trunk. I’m soaked through from the rain, my clothes sticking to my bruised body.

My odds of survival aren’t great. I have a useless arm and no weapon. For the first time, fear trickles into my heart—not of death but of losing Cole. What if I never get to see him again?

More coughs rack my frame, and I grimace as sharp pain lances through my skull and assaults my ribcage.

His boots disturb the grass as he rounds the vehicle, his weathered face coming into view. A raindrop clings to his nose as he lifts his arm and aims the gun at my face.

It strikes me as humorous, and laughter bubbles up from my chest. Here I am, staring death in the face, yet all I can focus on is that single raindrop. We’re comrades, both of us clinging to life.

I wonder who will give up first? Me or the drop?

I try to sit straighter, clutching my midriff, then spit a wad of blood on the dried grass and leaves.

This is it.

The end of the road.

“Any last words?” he asks, his finger steady on the trigger.

“Eat a dick and die.”

A bitter chuckle climbs up his throat for a brief second, but it dies just as quickly, and he pulls the trigger.

Click.

His eyes meet mine and widen. We look at the gun. He tries again.

Click.

Click.

Now I’m laughing for real.

I can’t stop it.

My ribs throb with pain as my stomach muscles contract. Tears stream from my eyes for a different reason.

Malcolm’s eyes harden as a cold rage seeps from his pores. He tosses the gun to the ground and comes for me.

I’m ready for him as I stand up.

When he’s within reach, I use the last of my remaining strength to rugby tackle him. My shoulder connects with his chest, and the breath gets knocked out of him. I shove him hard.

The world slows.

Everything slows.

Malcolm extends his arms as if asking for help, and a pleading look enters his eyes before he cartwheels his arm in a last attempt at regaining balance.

It’s already too late.

He topples back against the car and in through the open passenger door. His shrill, ear-splitting scream fills the air as the sizzling flames engulf his thrashing body.

The air soon fills with the stench of burning clothes and flesh, and I press the back of my bloodied hand against my nose, wafting the air.

Moments later, his screams fall silent, and I cock my head curiously. His upper body and head are burning, but his legs and feet remain outside the car, strangely untouched by the flames.

It’s almost as if I expect them to twitch or something, like in the movies.

When they remain unmoving, I blow out a bored breath and stumble past the burning car toward the road.

I’m growing dizzy, blood dripping from my fingers with every step. I clutch my arm in a bid to stem the bleeding, but I’m struggling to stay upright. I feel like I might faint.

I finally step onto the road and sway on the spot. What do I do now? My phone is in the footwell of the car.

The same damn car Rachel took to the hospital.

My weak laughter rattles my diaphragm. I stumble, barely managing to right myself in time.

I tip my head back and lose myself in the rain against my lashes and cheeks. Maybe I’ll die here today, but at least I can feel the rain on my face one final time.

A wave of nausea comes over me, and I topple back. In the distance, sirens draw nearer.

Maybe it’s my imagination.

Maybe I’m already dead.

Cole’s smiling face is the last thing I see before the world turns black.