Chapter 15 - The Final Struggle
We hit the hardwood floor with a bone-shattering thud. The wind was violently knocked out of me. The gun clattered away into the darkness.
I scrambled to my hands and knees, spitting blood. Arthur was already up, his eyes burning with a manic, feral hatred. He didn't look like a Wall Street titan anymore; he looked like a monster stripped of its human disguise.
He lunged for the dropped gun. I tackled his legs, bringing him down hard. We fought in the dark, a brutal, desperate brawl between father and son. He clawed at my eyes; I drove my fists into his ribs. All the pain from the woods, the starvation, the betrayal, poured into every strike.
He managed to shove me off, his hand closing around the grip of the pistol. He raised it, aiming squarely at my chest.
"You were always a disappointment, Marcus," he sneered, gasping for breath.
Before he could pull the trigger, a deafening roar shook the house.
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Arthur’s eyes went wide. He dropped the gun, staring down at his chest, where a blossoming red stain was rapidly spreading across his white shirt. He collapsed backward, hitting the floor with a final, heavy thud.
I turned around. Standing at the top of the stairs, shaking uncontrollably, was Rachel. She was holding her husband's hunting rifle, smoke still curling from the barrel.
