But I never manage to fire the shot. My right breast burns with an indescribable fire, spreading toward my shoulder and down to my ribs as I crumple to the floor, dropping the weapon. Taylor’s re-entered the room, and he’s armed, too.

Eddie pushes off the floor where he’s bent down on one knee, and lunges the short distance between us. His meaty hands lock on to my throat, and I suck in as much air as I can manage before his hold locks me off. Eddie’s jaw clenches, his eyes crazed and focused as he quite literally chokes the life from me.

“You won’t die yet,” he says through gritted teeth. “You’ll pass out, and while you’re asleep, my sweet little princess, I’m going to ’ave some fun with that tidy body of yours. But don’t worry, you won’t miss out.” His thumbs press harder, and black spots invade the edges of my vision as I grapple at his wrists. “No, I’m goin’ to make sure you get to experience the best part. I’ll ’ave Taylor here bring you back around, right as I start carvin’ you up from the inside out.”

My mother always told me when I was young that every situation is what you make of it. You can either choose to cry about it and quit, or you can suck it up and press on, leaving the moment behind to focus on what’s most important.

I refuse to go like this.

I’ve got someone now who makes living far more important.

Trying to get Eddie’s hands from my throat is pointless. His grip is strong, and in the time it would take me to get his fingers off my windpipe, I’ll pass out. So I improvise. I think quick. Lashing out, I take hold of where I guess his nipple is under his shirt and twist like hell. He howls, contorting his body to try and knock my hand away without letting go of my throat. All he succeeds in doing is giving me the room I need to get a good kick to his groin. I boot him as hard as I can in the jewels, rasping in huge pulls of air when his hands drop away and he buckles to his knees.

Taylor sidesteps to get a clear shot around Eddie, pulling the trigger at the same second as I drop to the floor and roll to my left. Lunging my arm out over my head, I grab hold of Gunter’s gun, giving myself an internal pep talk to keep from freaking out at the blood that’s now in my hair. There’s no time to fuck around and aim true with Taylor and Easy closing in on me as Eddie pushes to his feet, so I point in their general direction and let off a round. My wrist snaps sharply with the recoil, and I lose my balance for a second before finding stability with my free hand behind me. My ears are ringing, the sound of the gun discharging repeatedly in a small room deafening. Through it all, I make out the agonized howls of a man in intense pain and spot Taylor on the ground, clutching at his side. Blood pools fast beneath him, his fingers failing to stem the flow.

Easy clears his wounded friend in one long stride, bringing his boot up high to shunt it at my head. I turn my face away, but the heel still collects me hard in the side of the skull. Pressure blooms, my whole head now pounding as my ears ring out a high-pitched squeal. If I’ve guessed correctly, I’ve used half the clip. I have four bullets left, and two men to take down. I need to make the shots count. Rolling to my right, I crawl away from Easy through Gunter’s gore, toward the far corner of the room.

“Where you off to, Ryan?” Eddie mocks. “Where you goin’ to run?”

I’m not trying to run; I’m after a secure position. Eddie’s shoes pound toward me as I spin and scoot my ass back so I’m wedged into the junction of the bedroom walls. From here, I’m safe at my back, but he’s right in that I’m also trapped. I press the trigger and let off another shot at Eddie, hitting him in the thigh. He falters, his knee wobbling before he falls to one leg, propping himself up to save him from completely going down.

Easy pushes past Eddie, crazed rage in his eyes as he growls and reaches for my hair. His hands tangle in the blood-soaked lengths, wrenching hard to pull me up. It burns, red hot, and I scream to let the pain loose. But I also resist. I pull down. Strands tear from my scalp as he tries again to pull me upright, my fingers fumbling to get the Eagle right in my hand. I finally get a firm grip, and twist the weapon in my hold to fire at where Easy is cursing me out for not obeying.

The shot is deafening so close to my head, and the previous screech in my ears triples to a bloodletting roar. My eyes pulse with each hard pound of my skull, my nose tingling from the rush of blood at every heartbeat. Easy falls, crushing me under his weight as he folds over, and causing intense pain to shred through my injured shoulder. I scream again, a guttural roar, finding strength with each strained note that rips from my throat.

Eddie struggles to stand, hobbling toward where Taylor lies moaning with the  gun just out of reach. I wrench my arm out from under Easy and point in Eddie’s general direction, letting off my second-to-last round.

“Jesus,” Eddie says. “You’re fuckin’ mad.”

Guess I missed then.

I heave Easy off myself, wriggling my legs to get my feet free. Eddie’s eyes are wide as he lunges for Taylor’s gun, wrapping his fingers about it as I hoist myelf to stand. He lifts it my way, squeezing the trigger, and frowning when I duck nothing.

The gun’s spent.

He manages to limp across to the bed to take the weight from his bad leg while I chuckle.

“Bad luck, old man.”

“You’re a crazed bitch, Ryan. You’ve fuckin’ lost it.”

No words. There’s nothing I could say that would adequately describe what years of listening to his shit and acting the good girl has done to a healthy human mind. I lock my gaze to his and open my mouth, letting out a fucking war cry as I charge the asshole. I’m not ready to waste my last bullet, so I lift the gun high in my left hand and slam the butt down hard on his head. He shields himself with his arms, stumbling as he pushes to his feet again and limps backward out of the room, all the while I’m screaming some mixture of profanities and tears at the asshole, beating him best I can with the solid handle of the Desert Eagle.

I’ve snapped, gone loco, and it feels fucking divine.

Eddie limps and stumbles toward the living room, falling flat on his ass when I rush him and shove him hard. “I fucking hate you for what you did,” I scream at him as he scuttles away from me. “You came in here and ruined everything. You tore this family apart, you sent Hank to jail, and you almost fucking got Tommy killed.” I can barely make him out through the wall of tears as I beat around his head with the gun. “You ruined my life.” Although it wasn’t my life, was it?

He takes the leave granted by my breakdown, and heaves himself out the door, falling into the driver’s seat of his car. I bite my lip to control my hiccupping breaths and fire my last bullet at his driver’s window. It misses and splinters the wood of the fence behind.

My last bullet—wasted.

I drop to my knees in the front doorway and cry, too shaken up to be able to aim true. His tires screech out of our driveway, but I can’t see much more than the red blur of his taillights as he goes. Taylor’s dying moans from the bedroom echo in my mood as I sit and reflect on everything that’s just happened. I told Eddie he’d ruined my life, but the thug was nothing more than a vessel. I blamed him for the pain I couldn’t bring myself to associate with Harris; I made Eddie carry not only his sins, but those of a man I can’t bear to hate. Because if I allow myself to resent my father, the only family I have left, what do I have?

You have Bronx.

God. He’s probably so damn worried, and I’ve got no way to reach him. I’d do anything to have him here right now, to have his arms around me as I hiccup through the last of my tears. I need to get back to Lincoln.