Private Princess

Chapter 124

Michael “Flex” Gibbon looked up at the revolver that was pointing down at his face.

“Put one in my head,” he asked Morgan, knowing the game was over. “I don’t want to fall, Jack! For God’s sake, put one in my head!”

Morgan said nothing. He wasn’t seeing Flex, and not because the blood was trickling into his eyes and blocking his vision — it was the picture of Jane Cook, seconds from death, that he could see in front of him. Then it was the image of her violent execution carried out by the man who now waited helpless below Morgan, begging for mercy.

“Put one in my head!” Flex pleaded.

Morgan did not. Instead, he used the pistol to trace out the other parts of Flex’s body below him.

“No!” Flex begged, knowing that any wound that didn’t kill him would certainly brush him from his narrow perch. “Please!”

Morgan’s pistol hand shook with rage, adrenaline and grief. It shook as another gust of wind hit the building’s top. Flex dug his fingernails into the building’s side as if he thought he could claw his way to safety.

“For God’s sake, Jack!” he cried. “Shoot me before I get blown off here! Shoot me! Shoot me!”

Morgan felt the cold metal of the trigger beneath his finger. He had the bullets and he had the shot. Since Jane’s murder, he had dreamed of this moment, the fate of the killer in his hands, his face filling the sights of Morgan’s pistol.

Do it for Jane, Jack Morgan thought savagely to himself. Do it for Sharon Lewis. Do it for Peter Knight. Do it for all those other people that Flex has left dead, ruined or scarred in his wake.

Do it, Morgan told himself.

DO IT! his mind screamed.

And so he did.