7

Dare

The door to the kitchen creaked open, pulling me back to the present. My eyes snapped toward it. She stepped out, cautious as a thief in the night, wearing a black hoodie and jeans with cake all over her hoodie. She tiptoes.

She must have felt the weight of the room’s attention because she froze mid-step. The tension thickened as she turned to face us, and the hoodie snagged on the door. It slipped off her head, revealing her face.

Every man in the room recognized her instantly. The room shifted, an unspoken chaos sparking to life.

I didn’t hesitate. My hand darted to my back pocket, drawing my loaded gun. One of the men stepped toward her, greed plastered across his face.

“Boom!” The gunshot echoed, and his body hit the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

“Nobody fucking touches her,” I snarled, the warning sharp and venomous.

But greed is a powerful drug, and a million dollars was too much temptation. Weapons appeared in their hands, hunger in their eyes.

“So much for loyalty,” I muttered under my breath.

Before they could act, I dropped four of them with precise shots, the room ringing with gunfire. My gun clicked—empty. No time to reload.

I rolled up my sleeves, stepping forward into the fray. “Fine,” I growled, fists clenching. “Let’s settle this the old-fashioned way.”

Sky

I stood frozen behind him, blood sprayed across my face, my feet glued to the floor. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched him, a knife glinting in his hand, facing seven men armed to the teeth.

The first man lunged at him, screaming, a hammer raised high. He moved swiftly, catching the man’s wrist and forcing the hammer to the ground. With a brutal kick, the man collapsed, his body crumpling to the floor. Without hesitation, he stomped on the man’s neck, a sickening crack echoing through the room. He then grabbed the hammer and smashed it into the man’s head over and over. Blood sprayed like a crimson fountain, splattering his body.

Before he could lift his head, two more men charged at him from opposite sides, hoping to catch him off guard. But he was faster. Grabbing both by their waists, he slammed them to the ground with sheer brute force. One screamed as he stabbed his hand to the floor, pinning him with a knife, leaving the other free to attack.

The second man lashed out with a kick that sent him stumbling back a step. He glared, the annoyance in his eyes flashing like fire. His opponent smirked, emboldened, tossing his knife from one hand to the other before charging.

The man swung a punch, but he caught the arm mid-air, twisting it violently until the bone snapped with a stomach-turning crunch. Without giving the man a chance to react, he shoved him under his legs, raising both elbows high and crashing them down onto the man’s back. The sound of a spine breaking rang out, followed by a strangled scream.

With calculated coldness, he grabbed the man’s head in both hands, twisted it sharply, and let the lifeless body slump to the floor.

The man pinned with the knife howled as he finally ripped it free, clutching his bleeding hand. He staggered to his feet, wiping the blood from his nose, his face twisted in fury. Turning to the four remaining men, he barked a signal, motioning for them to attack as one.

They came at him all at once, a blur of rage and weapons. The first man swung an axe high over his head, but with a swift kick, he sent him crashing into the wall. Before the next could react, he grabbed the man by his side and shoved him forward, using him as a human shield. A third man lunged, stabbing the shielded man in the chest with both hands. He tossed the dying man aside like a rag doll, watching him slide across the tiles in a smear of blood.

Now armed with two knives, he crouched low, slicing through the ankles of two attackers. One of them screamed, clutching his leg, but his pain was short-lived—a knife was buried in his skull.

The remaining two men hesitated, one limping from the cut on his leg, the other clutching his injured hand. He smirked and gestured for them to come.

The limping man surged forward, hoping to catch him off guard. Instead, he was hoisted into the air and thrown against the wall with bone-shattering force. His body crumpled, his spine clearly broken.

The last man made his move, throwing a punch in desperation. It was too slow. He caught the man’s arm mid-air and delivered a brutal blow to his jaw, then another to his eye. The man staggered, barely standing, until a knife plunged deep into his forehead. His body slumped to the ground, lifeless.

A faint grunt echoed from the man thrown against the wall. Still alive. He turned, walking calmly toward the sound. Grabbing the man by his collar, he dragged him upright. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth as he struggled to breathe.

Without hesitation, he picked up the discarded axe, raising it high. The blade sliced clean through the man’s throat, blood spurting in every direction. The body fell limp, the crimson pool beneath it spreading across the tiles.

The room was silent now, save for the sound of my own shaky breath. I stood motionless, my heart racing as he dropped the axe.

He turned back to me, his body drenched in blood, his chest rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared, his gaze cold and unflinching. I stood frozen, trembling. This was the second time I’d seen him like this, surrounded by carnage, and I thought maybe, just maybe, I’d be stronger this time. But my stomach churned, bile rising in my throat. All I wanted to do was puke and scrub every trace of blood from my skin.

“Go shower,” he finally ordered, his voice low and firm.

My legs moved on instinct, but my body was too unsteady. I stumbled, my knees giving out, and I crashed to the floor. He didn’t move, didn’t reach for me. He just stood there, watching, as if gauging whether I was worth his effort.

It was better to have him far away than anywhere near me. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the sharp pain in my palms from catching myself. My heart pounded as I turned and bolted up the stairs, my feet barely touching the steps.

When I reached my room, I slammed the door shut and leaned against it, gasping for air. My hands were shaking as I fumbled for the lock. The thought of him standing there, covered in blood, his calmness after all that violence—it was burned into my mind.

I couldn’t afford to cry. Not here, not now. Instead, I rushed to the bathroom, ripped off my clothes, and turned the shower on as hot as I could stand it. The water stung my skin, but I scrubbed harder, desperate to feel clean.