The enemy

< Chapter 42 >

Kingston's pov:

TW: mentions of abuse, miscarriage and rape.

A groan left my lips at the same time that blood leaked from my mouth.

This fucker is really putting up a good fight.

We were both throwing out good shots at eachother and I was not expecting him to last this long at all.

We've been going at eachother for the past 15 minutes and I could tell that he was slowly running out of energy but he was still managing to keep up.

Motherfucker.

All the whilst we've been fighting, blood has been leaking all over the floor, mainly from his leg but also from the other assaults.

Is River okay?

I'm finding myself worrying about River a little too much at the moment and it needs to stop.

Out of everyone in this mansion right now, I'm only concerned about River's safety.

"Fucking motherfucker." The man grits out in his thick Russian accent, blood coating his teeth.

His anger leads me to have an evil smirk spread across my face.

He's bound to give up soon. His legs are going to give up on him.

He attempted to throw another solid punch but this time round, I dodged it, sending a hard kick to his already wounded leg.

He let out a painful groan and dropped to the floor. Perfect.

I then sent a hard punch to the side of his already bruised and bloody face.

"Bastard." He spat whilst kneeled down on the floor.

I let out a small chuckle as I knew what was to come.

Lifting my gun up, I aimed it at his chest and used my last few bullets.

He looked up at me, eyes wide as he slowly but surely took his last breaths.

After a few long seconds, he fell forward on his face as he then laid on the floor, lifeless.

Just as I thought I was done with this bullshit, I returned my sights back infront of me to see another Russian with his gun already pointed at me and aimed right at my head.

Fuck.

What the fuck do I do now? I just used up my last bullets on that prick. Didn't really think this one through, did I?

"Now, your time has come to an end." He spoke proudly with a smirk.

What's there to be proud of? That just sounded like something my 14 year old cousin would say.

I fought back a humourless laugh.

Just before he could fire his gun, a bullet was fired from somewhere other than his gun and a trail of blood dribbled down from his head.