A Scandal By Any Other Name

Delaney looked right into his wide, terrified eyes. She did not smile. She did not blink.

"Va en enfer, bâtard," Delaney whispered softly in French. (Go to hell, bastard.)

She pulled the trigger.

Bang!

The loud, deafening sound of the gunshot echoed violently through the quiet, cold woods. A bright flash of orange fire burst from the barrel. A thick cloud of gray, sulfur-smelling smoke filled the small space between them.

Without missing a single beat, Delaney cocked the hammer back with her thumb and pulled the trigger a second time.

Bang!

The second shot was just as loud, just as deadly.

Lucas’s body jerked violently backward with the massive impact of the lead bullets. The physical shock of the terrible wounds shot through his entire system.

The tight, crushing grip of his hand around her throat instantly began to loosen. His long fingers slipped away from her skin, leaving dark red bruises on her pale neck.

Lucas stared down at her. His mouth opened, but no sound came out at first. His eyes were completely blank with shock.

"Well played, Delaney," Lucas gasped out. His voice was no longer arrogant or mocking. It was a wet, ragged, rattling sound.

He was losing a massive amount of blood. The dark red liquid dripped freely from the two terrible wounds in his stomach. It soaked through his white linen shirt. It dripped down quickly, falling onto Delaney’s pristine white silk wedding dress, soaking into the expensive lace and staining it a deep, ugly crimson.

His strength completely left him. He could no longer sit up.

Lucas groaned loudly. He fell sideways, rolling completely off her body. He hit the dirt road, clutching his bleeding stomach with his good right hand, panting heavily as the life began to drain out of him.

Delaney was still lying flat on her back on the floor of the dirt road.

She was incredibly weak. The lack of oxygen had drained every single drop of energy from her muscles. She gasped loudly, her mouth wide open, pulling large, greedy gulps of the cold air into her burning lungs. She coughed violently, her throat aching with a sharp, tearing pain from where he had crushed it.

Her hands were shaking so badly she could no longer hold the weapon. The pistols fell from her weak fingers. It hit the dirt with a dull thud, landing a few inches away from her side.

She closed her eyes, trying to stop the world from spinning. She wanted nothing more than to just lie there and rest. She thought the terrible battle was finally over.

But Lucas Kingsley was a monster, and monsters do not die easily.

Delaney heard a wet, scraping sound in the dirt. She opened her eyes.

Lucas was struggling to stand up.

He was a terrifying sight. His thick coat was completely soaked in his own blood. His face was entirely pale, almost gray, and covered in bruises, sweat and dirt. He was breathing in short, wet, painful gasps. He pressed his right hand hard against his stomach, trying to stop the massive bleeding, but the red blood continued to drip steadily onto the floor.

He pushed himself up onto his knees. Then, using sheer, stubborn, evil willpower, he staggered to his feet. He swayed dangerously, but he did not fall.

He looked down at Delaney lying weak and helpless in the dirt. His dark eyes were filled with a pure, concentrated, deeply burning hatred.

He walked slowly toward where she lay. He dragged his heavy boots through the dust, leaving a trail of dark red blood behind him.

He reached her side. He looked down and saw one of the pistols lying in the dirt near her hand.

With a sudden, angry kick of his leather boot, he struck the pistol. The weapon flew far away, spinning through the air and landing deep in the thick green bushes on the side of the road, completely out of her reach.

He stood directly over her, blocking out the pale sun. His shadow fell across her bloody white dress.

"Delaney Kingsley," Lucas said.

His voice was very low, barely more than a rough whisper. He was struggling greatly to speak. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, trailing down his chin.

"Even if I die," Lucas promised, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a final, deadly vow, "you will die with me."

He raised his heavy right boot, preparing to stomp down directly onto her chest and crush her ribs, exactly as she had crushed his hopes. He wanted to take her life with his very last breath.

But Lucas had made one final, fatal mistake. He did not know she had brought two weapons.

As he raised his boot, Delaney moved.

She quickly took the other silver pistol. She raised her arm incredibly fast, aiming the silver barrel straight up from the ground.

She pointed the weapon directly at his face.

Lucas looked down at the barrel of the gun. For the very first time in his entire life, true, absolute terror flashed across his face. His dark eyes widened in complete, pure shock.

He tried to step back, but his injured body was too slow.

Delaney did not hesitate. She did not offer a final word.

She pulled the trigger.

Bang!

The third gunshot shattered the cold morning air.

The lead ball struck its target perfectly. Lucas’s head snapped violently backward. His eyes remained wide open, staring blankly at the sky.

He stood completely still for one long, terrifying second.

Then, his knees buckled.

He collapsed straight backward, falling heavily to the ground like a cut tree. His body hit the dirt road with a final, heavy thud. A cloud of brown dust rose around him, settling slowly back onto his bloody coat.

Lucas Kingsley lay completely still in the dirt. He did not move again. He was entirely dead.

Delaney lay on the ground, holding the smoking pistol in her trembling hand. The smell of sulfur and blood was incredibly strong. The silence that followed the loud gunshot was heavy and profound.

She let her arm fall to the dirt. The pistol slipped from her fingers.

She looked up at the gray sky, gasping for air. The terrible monster who had haunted her childhood, the cruel cousin who had made her life a living nightmare, was finally gone.