Trace of Fever - Lori Foster [128]
Trace’s boot connected with Murray’s chin again.
His head snapped back and he slumped on the floor, fuming and cursing and spitting blood. “Son-of-a-bitch.” He said, almost with admiration, “You are so fucking fast. I didn’t see that coming.”
“I’d suggest you keep your mouth shut.”
“Or what? You’ll kill me?” He scoffed at them both. “She plans to do that anyway.”
Priss didn’t want to cry; she didn’t want to give Murray the satisfaction of seeing how he’d affected her. But the hurt was deep inside her, ripping her in two. He’d done so much damage, destroyed so many lives, and yet he remained cavalier about it all.
The gun grew more cumbersome, her arms weaker, her heart as heavy as lead.
“I think you broke my jaw.” Murray struggled to sit upright again. “So, Priscilla, your mother was my first?”
Priss shook her head. “I don’t know and I don’t care. You need to be dead.”
“We’ll see. Until then, at least tell me if I’m your father.”
She managed a shrug. “Don’t know, and don’t care.”
“So Helene was right? Instead of waiting, I should have killed her before we left the office.” The shock of that was still sinking in on Priss when he continued. “I guess it’s hard to pinpoint a sperm donor with so many participating.”
Priss bit her bottom lip to still the telltale reaction to his callous news; Helene hadn’t been much better than Murray, and she got what she deserved.
So why did hearing it cause her so much distress?
Ready to be done with it all, Priss lifted the gun, but as she moved, Trace did, too—and Murray escaped further repercussions for his foul mouth.
Priss didn’t know how much more she could take. “Trace, please get out of the way.”
“Not going to happen.” Never looking back at her, he hesitated, and said, “It’s not for you to do this, honey.”
“It’s not for you, either!”
“No.” Alice stepped out of the shadows. “Killing him will be my privilege.” Unlike Priss, she didn’t waver. She didn’t look weak or emotional. She held the gun out straight, her finger on the trigger, her normally plain face now hard with iron will.
“This is bullshit!” Murray railed.
Trace cursed—and started backing toward Priss. “Alice, you don’t want to do this.”
“I’m not her, Trace. You can’t talk your way around me. I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. I’ve been waiting for someone like you, someone who wasn’t totally corrupt. This is the first chance I’ve had, and no one is going to stop me.”
Mesmerized, Priss watched as Alice smiled, a genuine smile of anticipation.
Trace backed up until Priss had to go on tiptoe to see over his shoulder. “Hear those sirens, Alice? The police are on their way. It’s over for Murray. Why don’t you give me the gun, and then we can all get out of here?”
“No.”
“Fucking police, Trace?” Murray mocked. “Really?”
He probably realized that they wouldn’t be able to hold him. Not with his connections, not with his far-reaching influence. Somehow he’d worm out of the charges; there would be a technicality, others would take the blame for him, or someone would get paid off by scumbag lawyers.
Priss held the gun tighter. She wouldn’t let that happen. This ended with Murray today—here, right now.
“You won’t be seeing the police, Murray.” Trace crowded her back, away from Murray and Alice. “You’ll be dead before they get here.”
“You’ll let me shoot him?” Priss asked.
“No.” His shoulders went rigid. “I’ll take care of it.”
Murray’s gaze darted around the room, from Priss to Trace and finally, maybe because she was so silent now, he settled on Alice. “How about we agree that no one should kill me?”
Several things happened at once.
Trace turned fast and snatched the gun out of Priss’s hand.
Before she could protest that, Murray vaulted to his feet.
And Alice, without hesitation, shot him in the middle of his chest. Once, twice, a third time. Each strike sent him back a step.
With the blast still echoing around the cold, dark room, Murray went utterly still. Eyes unseeing and mouth gaping, he wavered on his feet, and then