Breathless | David Rossi

Chapter Twenty One

Stealthily, you ascend the stairs up to the main bedrooms, keeping your AKM in front of you. The sound of gunshots ring heavily throughout the estate, reminding you that at any moment someone could appear and shoot you down. You heart pounds in your ears, your footsteps light as you reach the top step, scanning for any enemies.

You clear the first four bedrooms, aiming your gun at your parents closed door as you slowly approach. Please be okay, please be alright. You chant to yourself, praying that your mother is unharmed and you can get back into the fight without that nagging thought.

Your right fist swings at the bag, rocking it against the chain as you twist your upper body and punch with your left. Your adrenaline courses through you, numbing the agonising pain of your sprained wrist as you continue to agitate it, hitting the bag as hard as you can.

You tense at the busted lock, placing your hand on the door and pushing it open. Your eyes widen at the sight, zoning in on the body laying on the floor, covered in blood.

Your teeth grind together as you tense your jaw, your blood boiling as you hit the bag harder and harder. The skin on your knuckles rub away from the friction, leaving them raw. The bag twists on the chain, the momentum of each punch swinging it around.

Cautiously you step forward, you gun lowering as you move to stand beside your father. Tears prick your eyes as you look down, staring at the lifeless eyes of your mother. Your heart shatters, crumbling to the bottom of your stomach as you fight against the urge breaking down.

You can't take your eyes off the hole in her head. "What did you do?" You whisper. Your father doesn't respond, staring at his wife. Slowly you turn your attention to him, your eyes scanning the rest of her body and looking to your father, at the Glock in hand. "What did you do!"

Your fist collides with the bag, your knuckles exploding in blood and soaking into the material. You don't pay it any mind, driving your punches through the bag, as though it hangs a metre behind. Your hits become progressively harder, the blood patch growing.

"I didn't do anything." He answers, his voice sounding different. Your eyes finally meet his face, only it isn't your fathers; it's Angelos. He holds a wicked smile, blood painting his face from the overspray of firing the gun.

Your eyes widen in realisation, spinning down to see your mother replaced with Rossi. Blood pools around him, seeping into the expensive carpet. "No, no, no," Your voice breaks, your mind unable to fully comprehend the scene. "No... David..."

With one last mighty punch, your feet shift back an inch and you launch into a 540 kick. The top of your foot hits the bag, sending it flying to the right and pulling on the chain as it begins to level itself out.

Your chest heaves as you stand there, watching the bag swing back and forth to a stop, your heart beating rapidly and beginning to slow. Your body continues to shake, the adrenaline pumping through you and not yet subduing. The tears stain your cheeks, your eyes rimmed red as you stay planted to the ground, unable to move.

"Hey little girl, up for a spar?" Derek calls, closing the door into the gym behind him.

You silently curse to yourself, having hoped no one would be awake yet and decide to use the Bureau's facility. "Sure." You turn around, walking over to your towel to quickly dry your face and soothe your thirst.

Meeting Derek in the middle of the mat, you ignore the concerning look he gives you, his eyes darting between your knuckles and face. "Tap out?" He can see in your eyes that your pissed, that you need to let out steam and the punching bag wasn't enough.