Page 7 of Tragic Empire

Please, please, I need to wake up.

A new source of bright light bursts into the room as the latest degree of horror is revealed. The singular window does, in fact, lead to another room. A room that isn’t empty, and shreds any remaining optimism for being rescued.

“Here’s Daddy,” our captor announces, a sinful chuckle punctuating his words.

A sob racks out of me at the sight of Bron, beaten and bloody. His face is swollen, and he can hardly keep his eyes open. Cole blinks at the scene like he can’t believe it. It doesn’t seem real to him either.

Looking directly at Killian, the bald man grins. “You didn’t think I would kill you and leave your father alive, did you? You don’t kill a cobra without cutting off its fucking head.”

Turning to me, he adds, “Don’t worry, girl. I won’t make you witness this part. We have to warm you up, don’t we? I can’t have shock setting in before we get to the truly juicy bits.”

Suddenly, the other room goes dark again. And then in a flash, a gunshot rings out. With only the flare from the firearm going off, we all witness Bron’s head snapping back.

My throat burns with a helpless, “Noooo!”

Breathing becomes impossible, and I’m panting for each gulp of air, hyperventilating as my mind races.

They killed him, they killed him!

My stomach turns, and cold chills rush up my neck.

Oh god, I’m going to throw up.

One of the goons pulls a wad of polaroids from his pocket and tosses them at Cole and Killian, one by one. “Since you missed all the fun we had with your old man earlier, we thought we’d give you these mementos.”

They took pictures?

Why! Why is this happening?

“You’re going to regret that,” Killian says, voice cold and malicious.

“Yeah? Who’s going to make me regret it? Your ghost?”

Killian doesn’t waver. “You think killing us will be the end? You think we don’t have allies that will avenge us? For your own sake, you should learn to sleep with one eye open.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

I watch in silent horror as the man pulls a gun from the back of his belt. He aims the shiny black pistol directly at Killian’s chest. My ears start to ring before he even squeezes the trigger, and when he does, I feel my face drain white, my blood going cold.

“Fuck!” Cole roars, watching as Killian’s white shirt floods red and his face goes pale. He’s unconscious, his life slowly fading.

“Where’s that smart mouth now?” the man sneers, turning his aim toward his body next.

“Please, stop!” I cry, hardly recognizing my own voice.

All of the men in the room laugh at my outburst.

Cole’s gaze meets mine, and he studies my face like it’s the last time he’ll ever see it. This nightmare is a prison that neither of us are escaping. We’re trapped here, facing each other as death looms near.

He’s too young.

We’re both too young for this.

I’m not even twenty yet.

We were supposed to die together sixty years from now.

“Go numb,” Cole mouths, the instruction slowly sinking into my soul without permission.