Breaking the chain

Aralyn's POV

My hands shook violently as I gripped the shotgun, my fingers slick with sweat, and my breath ragged and shallow.

The gun was unsurprisingly heavy in my hands, pressing into my palms as I aimed it at the man I had feared my entire life—my uncle, Darius. He was staring at me with a look of disgust on his scarred face, as well as that twisted smirk that made my stomach churn.

"Look at you," he sneered, his voice filled with condescension. He took a step forward, unfazed by the weapon pointed at his chest. "Little Aralyn, pretending to be brave. "Are gonna shoot me, girl?" He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You? A coward who never fights back? The same sniveling brat who cries when I—"

"Shut up!" My voice cracked, but the anger behind it was real.

My fingers twitched on the trigger, but I was still a little hesitant, which I hated.

The memories clawed at my mind—years of torment, of being treated like nothing but a thing, a toy for his amusement. How many times had I just laid there, frozen, waiting for it to be over? How many times had I told myself that I just had to endure it, and that it'd be over one day, and I'd finally be out of this hellhole?

Not tonight.

I had gotten sick of it. So, so sick of it, and for the first time in my life, I wasn't going to just take it like a good girl.

Darius's smirk widened as he tilted his head. "You don't have it in you, girl. You never have." He took another step forward, as casual as if I were pointing a feather at him instead of a gun. "Think about it. Even if you do pull that trigger, do you think you'll walk out of here alive? You know what the boys will do to you if you kill me."

His words sent a fresh wave of dread through me, but I clenched my teeth and shook my head. No. That fear was what had kept me shackled for so long. He had used it against me time and time again.

I stole a quick glance at the door. This rundown excuse of a safe house, deep in the slums of Vasthral, the kingdom of thieves and murderers, was crawling with his men.

Darius wasn't just my uncle—he was the leader of one of the most feared gangs in the city. A parasite who thrived off power, cruelty, and the suffering of others, and I was his favorite plaything, but not anymore.

He moved again, too close now, and I took a step back, adjusting my aim.

"I said don't move," I warned, my voice firmer this time.

He laughed. He actually laughed.

"Or what?" he taunted. "You'll shoot me?" He leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Come on then, girl. Do it."

He thought I wouldn't.

He thought I couldn't.

My finger squeezed the trigger, my breath catching as the gun recoiled against my shoulder. The sound of the shot was deafening in the small room, and the flash highlighted Darius's face for a split second before he staggered backward.

A gurgled sound escaped his lips as he clutched his stomach, his smirk finally vanishing. Shock widened his eyes as blood seeped between his fingers, staining his shirt.

"You..." His voice was hoarse, disbelieving. "You actually—"

He swayed, his legs buckling. I should have felt something—relief, triumph, anything—but all I felt was an odd numbness as I watched him crumple to the floor.

Darius wasn't dead, not yet. His fingers weakly clawed at the floor, trying to push himself up, but I knew he wouldn't make it. The bullet had torn through his gut, and he would experience a slow and agonizing death.

I stepped closer, the barrel of the shotgun still trained on him. His breathing was labored, his face contorted in pain. His blood pooled around him, seeping into the wooden floorboards.

"You..." he wheezed, his lips curling into something between a snarl and a pained smile. "They're going to kill you, Aralyn. You hear me? You're dead the second they find you, you dirty bitch!"

I already knew that. Even now, I could hear the distant shouts from outside that signified that the gang had heard the gunshot, and they would come running.

My window of escape was closing fast.

Darius let out a choking laugh, his body shuddering as he coughed up blood. "You were nothing without me," he rasped. "Nothing but a useless, broken little girl. You think you're free now?"

My grip on the gun tightened. I could leave him like this, let him suffer until the life drained from his wretched body, but if I did that, the others might get here in time to save him. To keep him alive long enough to make me pay.

No.

I wasn't taking that risk. I lifted the gun again, aiming it at his head. His dark eyes met mine, and for the first time, I saw something in them that I had never seen before.

Fear.

I pulled the trigger, and this time, when his body went still, I knew he wasn't getting back up.

A sharp breath left my lips, my entire body trembling as the seriousness of what I had done hit me hard. I had killed him. After all these years, after all the nightmares, I had finally done it, but I couldn't stand here forever.

I dropped the shotgun, my hands shaking too badly to hold it anymore. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as I turned toward the door. My mind was already racing. There was no way I could fight them all. If I wanted to live, I had to run.

I had no one. No family, no place to go, but finally, I was free, and for the first time in my life, that was enough.

I sprinted out of the room, my feet pounding against the floor as I bolted out of the house through the window. The shouts outside grew louder. The gang was coming, but I wasn't that scared little girl anymore.