DAMIAN BLACKWOOD
The gun in my hand was heavy.
I had used many kinds of guns over the years, but this was one that particularly weighed me down, holding me to the chaos that had erupted in our home while having nothing to do with its weight. For all I knew, I had had many enemies like my father before me, but none had dared to come close to our home, both during his time and during mine. None at all.
As much as I tried to keep myself in control, my heart kept on racing, the adrenaline rush that had come from tearing through the bedroom like a psychopath while searching for whatever clues that could have been left still in my veins. From where Eleanor stood by her dresser, her fingers dancing around the edge of the drawer she'd just opened, I could see that her face was pale but had som
