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The Traitor

With an oath, Lucien clutched his chest where the bullet had pierced him as he spun around to shield his wife from the killer who stood in the doorway.

A second shot rang out, hitting his right arm, his firing arm, which now hung lifelessly as the blood-stained his shirt, seeping through to the dinner jacket he wore.

Proserpina mewled a sound of pain, trying vainly to staunch the bleeding, looking around helplessly for something to bind her lover’s arm as he stood, his face grey with pain and fury as he watched the man approaching them. Turning helplessly, she stood before her husband, shielding him with her body , glaring at the man who had walked in, who was raising his arm and taking aim to fire again.

Proserpina

“Shark!’ I spat out,’ You despicable, evil man!’

He laughed, he was on a high with substance and the thrill of having shot at Lucien, effectively crippling his shooting arm.

“Despicable?’ he crooned, stepping forward, pointing his gun again at Lucien,

Then coldly, he went
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