I wondered a bit fleetingly if she knew V, if she knew she was behind the whole operation, if she understood what was happening right now.
One look at her face showed sheer panic, her eyes taking on the look of a deer in the headlights, her body trembling visibly even from a distance.
"Give it up!" I demanded, voice raising enough to make the man who had abandoned his post a moment ago coming running back.
"Excuse me?" V asked, seemingly put off that I wasn't similarly shaking, wasn't begging for our lives.
"Give it up. What do you stand to gain here? What do you want from me? My mom? She's too smart to walk in here without a plan and backup, and you know it."
"A mother will do just about anything for the love of her child."
"Love," I scoffed, trying to keep her talking, trying to give Chris a chance to fight or even just sink to the ground, get out of the path of a bullet. "What could you possibly know about love with that black hole of a heart in your chest?"
"Love has many forms," V insisted, a muscle starting to tick in her jaw.
"Really? And scars across your daughter's back, and threats of rape against your granddaughter... what kind of love could that possibly be?"
There was no answer to that.
She fumbled with that realization for a second as my eyes begged Chris to do something. Anything at all.
But all she could do was shake.
Mouth I'm sorry to me.
She was sorry.
Her.
Not my grandmother.
Her.
Somehow, that made the rage boil through my veins again.
There wasn't a single thing this girl who had been brutalized for months, with no hope of an end, should be sorry for.
But the woman behind her?
The woman with a gun?
The woman who wanted to use her to get to me?
To have her men abuse her in my name?
Yeah, no, that bitch had everything to be sorry for.
"Get back in the house, Ferryn," she finally said, breaking the deafening silence, sounding so much like a frustrated mom that it was almost laughable.
But she wasn't a mom.
She was a demon wearing the flesh of a woman who once so happened to give birth to someone.
That was all.
My chin was in the process of lifting a bit higher, something almost all of the women in the girls club did, a sign of pride and stubbornness I was proud to inherit, when she spoke again.
"Do it now, Ferryn," she said, voice low and lethal. The woman had a blade of a knife instead of a tongue. "If you make this difficult, I will make you watch while the men have fun with your friend, just so you know what damage your insolence has."
I didn't think.
I wasn't even aware that the signal had gone from my brain to my arm until my eyes noticed it lifting.
I wasn't capable of being aware of thoughts when all I could feel was the kind of rage that felt like an out of control wildfire ravaging through my system, destroying everything in its wake.
My finger slipped to the trigger.
Pulled.
Everything seemed to slow as I felt the explosion of the bullet leaving the muzzle, felt the kickback of it through my hand and arm.
I'd swear I saw it as it barreled outward, a small flash and a lethal metallic bullet slicing through the air.
But even as I became aware of that, it was suddenly soaring through the air faster than an eye could follow.
The next thing I knew, a hole was forced into the skull of my grandmother, stark red blood and pink brain matter exploding outward from the pressure, splattering the side of Chris' face as - just like that - the life left my grandmother.
Her body swayed on its feet for a long second, her face plastered in her death-shock, eyes - so much like mine - huge, lips parted, like she couldn't believe this pathetic standoff was what finally put her in the ground, closer to the depths of hell where she had clearly come from.
There was no time for the realization to hit me as the man - V's man - roared, making me horrifyingly aware of the semi-automatic in his hand, the kind of damage he could do with it. Easily. With no effort at all.
Even as I thought it, the boots of the others on the ground as they scrambled to see what was going on filled my ears.
But then there was something else.
A whoosh.
A thump.
I knew that sound.
I knew it.
But I couldn't place it until I saw the man's body jolt, then fall backward, likely dead before his body hit the ground.
The whoosh.
That was a gun with a silencer.
The thunk was the bullet hitting home.
There was a mere second of utter silence before the other men appeared, each jolting and falling as soon as they were in view.