CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

Myra's Pov

The laughter was sickening.

But it stopped again. And this time finally.

As the huge man moved over to a stool, raised it up and sat on it; then leaned forward with the beer bottle still in his hand. Holding a drunk sneer on his face.

"No seriously, tell me..." he snickered, "What kind of bargain is that?" he chuckled, humored.

"Where a man is paid by someone else to kill his own daughter, and he'd actually do it?..." he asked, gesturing each word with his head, mockingly.

But then he paused. Taking a slow glance at the bottle in his hand, before suddenly staring aimlessly at the distant wall.

He seemed to freeze.

As there was a sudden silence. And it engulfed the room; sharp enough to slice steel, and low enough to hear a pin drop.

"How stupid do you think I am!" he yelled, getting up suddenly.

And the sound was disturbingly loud, reaching wide across the room with a high and deep force; making a bang like a fired fowling piece.

I could see Francis' eyes roll back in an