Tame his Beast - Claire C. Riley Page 0,2
The black steeds of the horsemen waiting on me to take my final, ragged breath. I couldn’t really blame them for that. Not after the things they’d seen me do over the years.
“Beg, and it ends,” the voice—closer to my face now—snarled, desperation and agony in their tone. “A single bullet to the brain and it’s over. It’s a better end than you deserve.”
He was right; it was a much better end than I deserved, and I wanted it to end.
The pain.
The darkness.
The agony.
But real men don’t ever beg, and they don’t give up.
I dragged my broken body up to my knees, forcing my one good eye open as much as I could so I could look this fucker in the face. I couldn’t focus properly; his face swam in and out of my vision as I swayed on my knees. I was back inside the barn, the scent of blood and death and animals’ fear heavy in the air. I hissed in pain as I forced myself to stand on shaky, bleeding legs, the knee of my right leg almost giving out as pain lanced through it, causing the blackness at the edge of my vision to flash with white light. I staggered backwards, and hands reached out, pushing me forward, back into the death circle that had been formed around me.
The world was hazy and jumbled, and I could barely make out the faces that surrounded me. But I lifted my chin, spat a mouthful of blood to the ground at my feet, and laughed loudly.
“Fuck you,” I growled. “Fuck all of you.”
“Beg,” the voice said again, his footsteps crunching over the gritty barn floor as he came to stand toe to toe with me. His amber eyes bored into mine, his voice steady. Serious. Pissed off because I wouldn’t back down.
“I don’t beg for no one,” I replied.
“I ain’t no one.”
I forced a smile to my face, knowing it would likely be my last. “You’re no one to me.”
*
The crackle of fire was close…the scorch of flames licked my skin…the screams of animals sang me dark lullabies…my body convulsed…I coughed up blood…choking on the smoke…on the pain…on the call of death that was nipping at my heels. I wished it would hurry up and put me out of this goddamned misery. I had places to be and shit to do on the other side. My brothers were waiting on me. I could hear them calling my name…
In my new world, there was nothing but blackness, the screaming of the horses and the stamping of their hooves. And heat. So much heat. Sweat poured from me, or maybe it was blood. It didn’t really matter anymore.
I was a dead man regardless.
I wanted to get up, to drag my broken body away from this hellhole, but nothing worked. My mind told my body to move, but my body was already dead. It had given up hours ago; broken, battered, bloody, dead as dead can be. The Grim Reaper was waiting for me, scythe in hand, ready to drag me to wherever dead men go to pay for their sins.
And I had sinned plenty.
But my mind.
My goddamned mind would not shut off.
It would not let go.
The horses’ screams grew louder, torturing me more than any knife or gun or brass knuckles ever could. The screams of those horses burning would haunt me even in death.
The heat slid along my hands, flames licking at my melting flesh, burning me from the outside in. I coughed again, the coughing never-ending as I slowly suffocated on the thick black smoke that surrounded me.
Get up! Echo screamed from somewhere. Get the fuck up!
But Echo was dead, wasn’t he?
I’d seen him fall.
I’d seen the blood and the bullet and the emptiness in his eyes as he’d hit the ground.
Whatever it takes.
But my limbs were broken, my body already dead.
Whatever it takes, he told me again. Now get up.
Grief caught in my chest like a hammer and now I was choking on the misery of his loss and the pain of losing him, and not on smoke and the fire that was torturing me. He was my brother, and it was my fault he was dead. I’d sensed something was wrong but I’d dismissed it.
My mind roared in anger. At myself. At the world. At the realization that Echo was dead because of me, and now so was I.
Get up! he ordered me again.
I didn’t want to get up. I wanted to lie there and let