Serpentine Desires

The prey- 171

The guards around us hit the ground one by one. Three to be exact ad as far as my mind could process, there were only six remaining, still a number. Now that everyone was here, I wondered where Ralph was.

"Fucking drop the gun!" My father roared as he pressed the gun harder against my temple.

But I couldn't tear my eyes away from the montage before me. A macabre chessboard of shattered loyalties and desperate bargains.

Judas once again pointed his gun at my father's chest who was visibly shaking. He clutched his own weapon, aimed squarely at my head with both hands this time as if holding it with one was tiresome or simply heavy. And the fact that my own father had a gun against me... I didn't know how to comprehend this. Should I feel terrified? Hateful? Or disappointed? But strangely all I felt was numbness. The same kind I felt when Judas killed that man.

It was a single, suspended moment. Like if one would blink, something worse would happen. Like heartbeat stretched so long I could feel every one of its thuds echoing in my bones.

Across from them, Kyle's sneer cut through the tension as he trained his gun on Lucius, whose expression was as indecipherable as a stone. But it was Judas who commanded the situation now. I could see it in his eyes. Those steely eyes. Pale and ruthlessly violent. I was tempered by a sorrow that made my heart clench with hope and dread.

"Shoot him," Kyle growled. And I swallowed hard. He was bruised and bloodied. He must have had a face-off with guards before he found us.

I knew, with every instinct, that Judas held the upper hand.

"Don't..." My father whispered shakily and I totally noticed the fear in his voice. He didn't want to die. I raised my head to look at him and he was already looking at me with his tear-filled eyes as his unfocused eyes pleaded. "I don't... want to die... please, please, please..."

His lips trembled as he repeated it, over and over, the words losing shape, turning into nothing but a broken man's sobs.

I felt my breath hitch.

It was strange, wasn't it? How grief twisted itself into the shape of love. How love didn't simply disappear even when it was betrayed. He was the one who had turned on me first, the one who had held a gun to my head, the one who had chosen self-preservation over fatherhood.

And yet...

I saw him through the layers of memory, through the years where he wasn't this man, wasn't this terrified creature, begging for his life. I saw him through the eyes of a daughter who had once been loved.

I remembered the nights I had fallen asleep against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my cheek, lulling me into dreams. The times he had carried me on his shoulders, the warmth of his hands steadying me as I reached for the sky. The mornings he had kissed my forehead and told me I was his little girl, his bright star.

Had it all been a lie? Or had it simply not been enough?

And now, here he was, reduced to this.

A man who had put a gun to his daughter's head and still expected mercy.

How was I supposed to come to terms with this? How was I supposed to watch him die?

Would it make me cruel if I still loved him? Would it make me weak?

I prayed for him every night, every day. Blamed myself for his death. And it was just fun for him?

I clenched my jaw as my vision blurred.

Judas wouldn't show him mercy. I knew it with every instinct I had. But my father had once had my heart. And that was the cruellest thing of all.

Because no matter what happened next, I was about to lose him forever. Again.