“I’m done, Emery; done with your games, the power plays. It’s over. You are over.” Brant started to pull the trigger, but Emery dodged to the right. Fenn jerked his hand up and fired.
Three shots in rapid succession. Deafening sounds that made his ears almost bleed from the sound.
Brant made a choked noise of surprise and crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath. Blood bubbled over his white shirt where the bullets had torn through his fancy suit. Emery walked over on shaking legs and kicked Brant’s gun out of reach. Fenn watched, unable to speak. He had killed a man, taken his own cousin’s life. The crimson blood, a blood he shared with this man, was seeping into the grass, dark and thick as molasses. He swallowed hard but couldn’t turn away. A hollowness filled him, suffocating him.
