Chapter 6 - The Trial of Blood and FireWhen a prey animal learns how to bite back, the predator is the one who ends up bleeding.
Mark shrieked as the heavy silver bucket smashed into his jaw, shattering his teeth and cracking his cheekbone. He stumbled backward, releasing his grip on my throat, staggering blindly across the marble floor.
He dropped the revolver. It clattered against the tile, sliding across the slick floor toward the edge of the room.
Mark spat blood, his eyes wild with unfathomable shock and rage. "You... you hit me?!"
"I'm done letting you hit me!" I yelled.
I dove across the floor toward the fallen revolver. Mark lunged forward, grabbing my ankle with his good hand, dragging me back violently. I kicked out with my other leg, my heel connecting hard with his broken arm.
Mark let out a blood-curdling scream of agony, clutching his arm as he rolled onto his back.
I scrambled to my feet, grabbed the heavy revolver off the floor, and backed away, holding the gun with both hands, aiming it directly at Mark’s chest. My hands shook slightly, but the sight picture stayed pinned right over his heart.
Mark lay on the floor, gasping for breath, bleeding from his mouth, looking up at me in utter disbelief.
"Lena..." Mark stammered, his voice suddenly changing from rage to pathetic begging as he saw the steel determination in my eyes. "Lena, baby, please... you wouldn't shoot me. You're a good girl. You're a waitress. You don't have it in you to kill anyone..."
"You spent five years breaking me, Mark," I said, my voice steady, tears of pure catharsis streaming down my cheeks. "You thought I was weak because I chose peace over violence. But you mistook my mercy for weakness."
The heavy double doors of the penthouse burst open.
Vincent rushed in, accompanied by ten fully armed guards. He took in the scene in a fraction of a second—Mateo bleeding on the floor, the defeated mercenaries tied up in the hallway, and me, standing tall in the center of the room, holding a revolver at my ex-husband's chest.
Vincent didn't order his men to fire. He stopped in his tracks, staring at me with an expression of profound, awe-struck respect.
Vincent walked slowly into the room, stepping up behind me. He placed his warm, solid hands gently over mine on the grip of the gun, his chest pressed against my back, offering his absolute support.
"It's your choice, Lena," Vincent whispered softly into my ear, his voice calm and unjudging. "If you pull that trigger, I will hide the body so deep no one will ever find it. If you want him dead, he dies by your hand. But if you want him to suffer worse than death, let me take him."
Mark looked at Vincent, then looked at me, trembling uncontrollably, utterly terrified for his life.
I looked at the weapon in my hands, then at Mark. I realized that killing him would keep his memory alive in my mind forever. He didn't deserve my gun. He didn't deserve to be a martyr in my story.
Slowly, deliberately, I lowered the barrel of the revolver.
"He's not worth my soul, Vincent," I said softly, turning my head to look into Vincent’s dark, loving eyes. "He's nothing."
Vincent smiled—a rare, radiant, breathtaking smile that warmed the cold room. He took the gun from my hands, handed it to a guard, and then pulled me into his arms, holding me so tightly I could hear his steady heart beating against my ear.
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"Mateo, get to a medic," Vincent ordered, keeping his arm wrapped securely around my waist. Then he looked down at Mark with eyes colder than deep space. "Take Mark Hayes. Hand him over to the federal authorities alongside his uncle's corruption files. Ensure he is placed in maximum security state prison for attempted murder and domestic terrorism."
Vincent leaned down, his voice chillingly absolute as he spoke to Mark one last time. "You will spend the rest of your life in a dark cell, Mark. And every single day, you will remember that the woman you tried to destroy is living like a queen in the sky."
