BANG! BANG!
I pulled the trigger and shot at Steven on the shoulder twice. He seemed to be in great pain as he slides down the wall, wincing at the blood pouring from shoulder. I didn't intend to shoot him with the revolver; I was just protecting Stan.
I lowered the gun to my side, placing it down on a table, and glanced over to a sobbing Stan to the left. How could he cry over to a guy who treated him like a slave? I walked over to him, shushing him and telling him everything will be alright. No one is not going to hurt my boyfriend.
I pulled Stan into my arms and embraced him in my arms. He clutched onto my vest, sobbing and sniffing on my shoulder.
"Shh, Stanley. I'm here, baby." I said in a reassuring tone, kissing on his unkempt hair. Stan relaxed his body and squeezed me tight.
"You think you're hot and shit, don't you? You think you can intrude in my home and steal my nephew without my permission, huh?" I looked up from Stan and turned to Steven murmuring in agony. He staggered an angry look at me, grinding teeth in pain.
"Baby, call the police," I whispered to Stan, breaking up our comfort embrace. Stan squeezed me one last time and walked over to the table. In the corner of my eye, I saw a glistening shotgun aiming at Stan in Steven's hand.
"Put that gun away, Steven. You're not going to shoot Stan."
"If I have to die in slow, cold pain, I want Stan to come with me." My heart jumped when the trigger makes a click sound, igniting two bullets from the gun.
"STAN, WATCH OUT!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, shrieking him to duck.
But it was too late.
Stan got hit in the chest.
"No...NOOOO! STAN! STAN, PLEASE, PLEASE WAKE UP! DON'T DIE ON ME, BABY! I NEED YOU! WAKE UP! STAN? NOOOO!"
