Jess could hear the battle raging outside the thick walls of the old jail as she shook off the last of the ropes that bound her to the padded table. She wasn't sure why Marcus had let her go, but she wasn't going to ask any questions. Her pistol lay on top of a nearby table and she dove for it before the old fox could stop her. The grip fit awkwardly in her hand, as the gun had been made for someone bigger than she was, but it gave her a measure of confidence again.
“Think before you act, Miss Bryar. You're safe as long as you don't do anything rash,” Marcus said.
She spun around to face him and she raised the pistol to point it at him.
“Is that what you told Megan before you raped her? Or did you off her this comfort before you tried to kill her?” she said.
He took a step toward her, and smiled when she held her ground.
“Megan Silva was only a distraction. She was never worth my time, and she isn't worth yours, either. Now, you have someone much more important to look after,” he said.
He took another step toward her, and her nose wrinkled as she caught the sour scent of him under the damp, moldy reek of the prison. She stayed put, but she laid a protective hand over her belly and the child growing there. She'd been ten the first time he'd used her, and she knew what he would do to any child he thought he could claim as his.
“I spent my whole life in fear of you. Everyone told me you owned me, and I believed them. I did everything I was told so you wouldn't take away everything I cared about. Now, all I have is my daughter and I won't let you hurt her,” she said.
Marcus reached out to stroke her belly, and now she did back away and she raised the pistol higher until it was aimed roughly at his heart. Her hand trembled and the gun felt heavy in a way that had nothing to do with the wood and steel it was made of. Outside, the noises of combat grew louder and she could hear soldiers screaming and the clash of steel. She could still feel the weight of him on top of her, and the sting of every scar he'd given her, and she clutched the pistol in both hands to hold it steady.
“Shoot me. It won't matter. My daughter, my heir, will live after me and she will rebuild all I have lost today,” he said.
“My daughter,” Jess said.
She pulled the trigger and the pistol jumped in her hand. Marcus flinched, but the bullet hit the window to his left. Glass shattered, and a flurry of cold air and rain blew into the room along with the smell of burning wood from the fires that dotted the city. She fired four more times, before her courage could fail her, and she missed badly with each shot. On the fourth, however, something incredible happened. Marcus skidded in the pool of water under the broken window and fell in a heap at her feet. He snarled at her and might have gotten back up, but she adjusted her aim and not even she could miss at this range.
“Shoot me and be damned. Kill me and take revenge for whatever harm you imagine I've done you. But you're a fool if you think your friends out there will be any better. Whores like you are disposable,” he said.
“I know. I'm not doing this for the revolution, or for anyone else in this miserable city. All that matters is my daughter, and giving her a chance to grow up in a world where she can be free,” she said.
Marcus laughed and he spread his arms wide, baring his chest to her.
“I will be with you both for the rest of your lives,” he said.
She fired again, and the smell of blood mixed with fresh gunpowder. Outside, something fell with a tremendous crash that rang even in her numbed ears and she dropped the empty pistol to the floor.
This scene is based on the ending of my second novel, but with a happier ending (relatively speaking) than the original. For those who don't know, or who don't remember, Jess started out as a slave in a brothel where she spent the first 33 years of her life. Then there was a brief civil war in her home city, and she grabbed her chance. The fox at her feet is Marcus Keppler who, among many other things, was a rapist, a murderer and the person who owned Jess and all her fellow slaves.
Art belongs to
\n\t\t\t\t\ttierafoxgloveOriginal post: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/15255932/
Jessamine Bryar and Marcus Keppler belong to me.