Chapter 184: Pulled The Trigger
Aurora POV
The hospital room was quiet, smelling of medicine and the cheap floral scent of the air freshener the nurses used to mask it. I stood over my brother’s bed, looking at his pale, still face. Then, slowly, I leaned down, my lips brushing his cold, lifeless cheek.
"I’m going to avenge you," I whispered, the words vibrating against his skin like a blood oath. "You, Mom, and Dad. I’m going to end the monster responsible."
I stood up slowly, my legs feeling heavy. My hand instinctively dropped to my stomach, pressing against the flat surface where a tiny, secret life was just beginning to take root. A different kind of warmth spread through me—a protective, fierce fire.
"I’m going to save you from a bad father," I whispered to the baby. "You won’t grow up knowing him. You won’t be a pawn in his sick games."
A tear rolled down my cheek before I could stop it. I wiped it away angrily. I was tired of crying. Tired of mourning. Tired of burying people I loved while monsters like Raymond continued breathing like they owned the world.
My fingers tightened against my stomach protectively.
"I promise you," I whispered shakily to the tiny life inside me. "You’ll never know this pain. You’ll never grow up afraid."
The monitor beside my brother’s bed had already been switched off. The silence around him felt unnatural. Empty. Like the universe itself had abandoned him. My chest ached so badly I thought I would collapse beside the bed.
I remembered him laughing when we were younger. Sneaking snacks into my room after Mom grounded me. Standing in front of me during Dad’s scoldings because he always believed it was his job to protect me. And now he was at the brink of death.
Because of men like Raymond.
Because evil people always seemed untouchable.
Not anymore.
I turned and walked out of the room, not looking back. If I looked back, I might lose my nerve. I walked out of the hospital and hailed a taxi, my movements slow and stiff. As the car pulled away, I sat in the back seat, the city blurring past the window. I reached into my bag, my fingers brushing against the cold, matte-black handle of the pistol Oliver had given me. It felt heavy—heavy with the weight of what I was about to do.
I zipped the bag shut and took a deep, shaky breath. My mind was a mess of "what-ifs." What if I got caught? What if I was sent to jail? The thought of a cold cell didn’t scare me as much as the thought of Raymond ever laying a hand on my child. But then, Oliver’s face flashed in my mind. Oliver, who had been my rock, my light in the dark. He would be so heartbroken. He would find out about the lies, the club, the pregnancy... the murder.
I hope one day he forgives me, I thought, a tear pricking the corner of my eye. Even if we can’t be together, I hope he knows I did it to be free.
The taxi slowed at a red light, and I stared blankly at the people crossing the street. Normal people. Laughing. Talking. Living ordinary lives while mine was about to shatter forever.
I wondered briefly what would happen after tonight.
Would I survive?
Would I be arrested?
My hand unconsciously tightened around the strap of my bag.
"Miss, we’re here," the driver said, jolting me out of my thoughts.
I looked up at the familiar, dark exterior of the club. It looked different in the daylight—less like a den of sin and more like a tomb. I paid the driver, stepped out of the car, and stood on the sidewalk for a moment, sucking in the humid afternoon air. This was it. There was no turning back.
The towering black building loomed over me like a beast waiting to swallow me whole. I remembered the first night I stepped inside. I had been scared then, too. But back then, I was scared of Raymond.
Now?
I was scared of myself.
Because I was a known staff member, I didn’t go through the front. I slipped through the back door, the heavy metal clicking shut behind me. The club was strangely busy for an afternoon; music thrummed through the floorboards, and the scent of expensive liquor and sweat was already thick. I kept my head down, walking past a few coworkers who offered quick nods. They knew I was "Raymond’s girl." They probably thought I was here for another session of pleasure and pain. They had no idea I was the executioner.
One of the girls at the bar smiled knowingly at me as I passed.
"Go girl?" she teased lightly.
I forced a weak smile, but my throat felt too tight to answer.
If she looked closer, she would probably notice the terror in my eyes.
As I crossed the lower lounge, one of the Doms lounging near the bar noticed me immediately. Victor. Tall, tattooed, and always watching me a little too closely. He smirked as he took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes dragging over my body.
"Damn, sweetheart," he drawled lazily. "Raymond keeping you all to himself should be considered a crime."
I ignored him and kept walking.
"You know," he continued with a low chuckle, "once your contract with Raymond expires, you should consider me next. I’ve always wondered what you taste like."
A few men nearby laughed quietly.
My stomach twisted with disgust, but I didn’t stop moving.
Victor leaned back against the counter with a mocking grin. "Cold as always. That man really trained you well."
I tightened my grip on my bag and climbed the stairs without looking back, my heartbeat growing louder with every step toward Raymond’s private lounge.
I climbed the plush stairs to the private lounge, every step feeling like a mile. My heart was hammering so hard against my ribs I was sure people could hear it. I reached his door, my hand trembling as it hovered over the handle. I closed my eyes, pictured my brother’s lifeless face, and pushed it open.
The room was dim, the only light coming from a few amber lamps. Raymond was there, draped across the leather armchair like a king on a throne. He had a glass of whiskey in his hand, the ice clinking softly as he swirled the amber liquid. He didn’t even look up at first.
"You are ten minutes late, honey," he rasped, his voice that deep, modulated growl that used to make my skin tingle. "And you will pay for it."
I stood there, rooted to the spot. I had expected to feel a wave of pure, unadulterated hate the moment I saw him. I had expected my blood to boil. But instead, as I looked at the masked figure, a strange, hollow silence filled me. We just stared at each other—the predator and the prey. Except the prey had teeth now.
"You said you had something to say," he said, finally setting the glass down on the side table and leaning forward.
I took a step closer, then another. I needed a closer target. I needed to be sure. My heart was racing, and for a split second, a flicker of doubt crossed my mind. Was I really capable of this? Could I take a life?
Then, I thought of the baby. I thought of Raymond finding out I was pregnant. He was a monster, a man who lived in the dark. He would see my child as an asset, a tool, or worse—an inconvenience to be removed. I couldn’t give my child a father as heartless as the man sitting in front of me. What if he forced me to abort? What if he took the baby away to raise it in this hellhole?
I shook my head, the doubt vanishing, replaced by an icy, motherly resolve.
"Do you have something to say?" he asked again, his tone turning impatient. "I’m busy, Aurora."
I got a grip on the handle of the bag, my fingers sliding into the opening to find the grip of the pistol. My skin met the cold metal, and suddenly, I felt steady.
"Fuck it," I whispered under my breath.
I looked him dead in the eye—or where I thought his eyes were behind that mask. "Yes. I have something to say. But not with words."
Before he could even process the shift in my tone, before his hand could move from the armrest, I pulled the pistol out. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. I remembered what Oliver had told me at the shooting range: Don’t talk. Don’t hesitate. Pull the trigger until the threat stops moving.
I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t scream. I didn’t give him a chance to plead.
I raised the gun, aimed it straight at his chest, and pulled the trigger.
BANG.
I didn’t stop to see where the bullet hit. I pulled the trigger again.
BANG.
And again.
BANG.
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