Chapter Forty-Two
Unable to control myself, I continued squeezing the trigger, roaring with an acidic cocktail of anger, adrenaline, and satisfaction. I let the fear, anger, and pain of eighteen months of loss pour through me. Each pull of the trigger was a release of pain, a discharge of hate.
I didn’t stop firing until the cylinder clicked empty.
The decision would change everything.
Bullet holes, blood, and splintered wood littered the room. Kellerman’s hardwood desk shattered. My bullets riddled the front of it; the solid top now covered in black scars.
But Teach stood tall, amidst the destruction around him.
The man I had lain awake thinking about at night—imagining ways I could torture him—to make him feel the pain he deserved for the lives he destroyed. I still wanted to kill
