The Cross Over (Silent Moments Series: Book 7)

Chapter 5

 The offer, coming from Russell, was unexpected and stirred a complex mix of emotions within me. The clothes, a tangible connection to Abby, were a reminder of what I had lost, of the mother who had once been part of my life. Yet, they were being offered by the man responsible for so much pain and turmoil. It was a poignant, conflicting moment that encapsulated the complexities of our situation in Sanctum. The sight of Abby's wedding ring, a symbol of love and commitment, hanging from a metal chain, ignited a visceral reaction within me. The cold metal felt like a tangible echo of the past, a reminder of a time and a life irrevocably altered. The ring, surviving through all the chaos, was now in the hands of the man responsible for so much loss. As I met Russell's gaze, the necklace in my hand, a storm of emotions raged within me. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface began to boil over. It was clear that Russell was provoking me, perhaps even seeking this reaction. In that moment, his wish became my command.

Gripping the ring tightly, I unleashed the pent-up fury with a punch that landed squarely on his jaw. The impact sent him to the ground, but I didn't stop there. My foot connected with his face in a follow-up blow, driven by a mix of grief and rage. Seizing him by the collar, I hurled him against a chair. The physical release of my anger was overwhelming, a cathartic response to the pain and turmoil he had caused. Russell, now at my mercy, seemed to have achieved his goal of pushing me to this point of no return. In the midst of the chaos, a part of me recognized the dangerous path I was treading. This act of violence, while momentarily satisfying, was not who I wanted to be. It wasn't the example I wanted to set for Madi or the kind of leader I aspired to be. Yet, in the heat of the moment, those thoughts were drowned out by the raw, unfiltered emotions driving my actions. The room was filled with tension, a physical representation of the internal conflict raging within me. The decision of what to do next lay heavy in the air, a critical choice that would define not just Russell's fate, but my own as well. In a frenzy of unbridled fury, I unleashed my wrath upon Russell. "For my mother!" I screamed, each punch fueled by a lifetime of pain and loss, my voice echoing through the room as I struck him repeatedly. Russell fell to the ground again under the force of my blows, his body a symbol of the agony he had inflicted.

"Get up," I growled, my voice low and menacing, commanding him to rise. Yet, as he struggled to his feet, I kicked him back down mercilessly. In the chaos, a lantern was knocked over, and flames began to lick the edges of the room. The spreading fire mirrored the burning rage within me, but in that moment, I was beyond caring about the destruction around us.

Seizing the end of his chain, I yanked it towards me with all my strength, dragging Russell closer. My other hand pulled out the gun from the inside pocket of my jacket, and I pointed it squarely at his head. "Is this what you want!" I demanded, my voice a mix of anger and desperation.

Russell's response came weakly, a whisper of surrender amidst his pain. "Yes," he gasped, his head nodding faintly. "Do it. Pull the trigger. Set me free."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the gravity of the moment. The power to end his life rested in my hands, a decision that would irrevocably change the course of my own. The temptation to grant him his wish for release, to avenge the losses and the suffering, was overwhelming. Yet, as I stood there, the gun trained on Russell, a deep-seated part of me recoiled at the thought. This was not justice; it was vengeance. It was not the act of a leader seeking to rebuild a broken society, but the act of someone consumed by grief and rage. The realization dawned on me that pulling the trigger would not bring back what was lost. It would not heal the wounds or erase the pain. It would only add another layer of darkness to an already shadowed world. The room, now partially engulfed in flames, served as a stark reminder of the destruction that unchecked anger could bring. It was a crossroads, a moment where the choice I made would define not just Russell's fate, but mine as well. I stood there, the gun still pointed at Russell, the weight of the decision pressing down on me. To pull the trigger or to step back from the edge – that choice was mine to make.