One Word | H.S.

Chapter Fifty-Four

The Trio.

Violence ahead. You have been warned.

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Levi's POV | Present Day

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Pop.

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When I graciously arrive in hell, I'm gonna shoot Jensen a second, third, fourth fuckin' time.

He's lying on the ground like the pussy he is, worthless like an expired lemur, as my mind runs throughout the treacherous wild. Slashed by the bulging thorns, I have no fuckin' clue what to do, how to calm H down.

Caden, too.

Little Red has mysteriously vanished from the safe perimeters that I set for a damn reason, probably getting out through the backdoor. But I've got cameras set camp all around Wonderland, tagging at every visible corridor.

She's not inside, and Jensen's men aren't up on the roof.

"Someone's fuckin' dying," Caden's b-lining for the stairs as Harry stares out onto the city, face all-too blank as he doesn't bother to blink, ghost-shocked. "Levi, toss me your fuckin' gun!" He yells, voice shaking only slightly.

Goldie Locks is yelling for all the surrounding people to hear, though everyone's acting like that bitch Hellen Keller in this very moment.

Oblivious fools, they're next.

I don't even know what came over me when my finger "slipped" on the trigger, pounding the shiny bullet straight through the idiot's chest with fuckin' ease. God, he's lucky I'm too worried about Harry right now to speed up his death process, still wantin' to wrap my hand around his neck and snap him dry.

"You don't use guns," My voice is mid-level, maintaining it at the minimum to keep from startling Harry, rile his already fucked brain. "H, she's okay. Trust me, there's no way somethin' happened to her, no fuckin' way. Ryder would've stopped it, promise." I place my hand on his shoulder, narrowing in as he snaps his eyes to the gesture.

They're darker than the plasma oozing from Jensen's heart, pouring out in buckets of overwhelming grief. Shock present on every feature, fear filling him to the brim of self-loathe, probably tearing himself up from what he believes he could've prevented.

I've never been the greatest at comfort, one-liners being my historical staple as I couldn't understand empathy as far as I could throw it. For starters, I don't know what it's like to be completely head-over-heels for the craziest, most deranged person in the entire world.

Scratch that, I do know how to be in-love with something absolutely psychotic. I'm in-love with myself, for Devil's sake.

"Ha—,"

"Give me your fucking gun." Harry interrupts as my eyes shoot wide, stepping back slightly as Caden halts right before he reaches the stairs, turning over his shoulder from the scratched record.

For the last goddamn time, neither of these bimbo's know how to use Daddy Glock, failing miserably if they ever tried. I'm the prime example of attempted murder; the bullet-wound explaining how we shouldn't think-on-a-dime, step back and breathe for moments longer.

But, shit. Presley's on the line, and I still wanna get drunk with that girl before either of us go.

My eyes shoot to my waistband as Harry lunges to grab the gun, eyebrows furrowed with a sense of frenzied passion, not taking no for an answer. "Who you gonna go shoot?" I step back as he gives me his token warning glare, looking like he'll rip me to shreds if I don't abide by his wishes.