The Dealer picked up the shotgun. Reloaded. Three hot shells. He racked the slide and placed it in the center.
Darius’s head didn’t just snap back. It opened . A spray of red and grey painted the wall behind him—a grotesque Rorschach. His body sat there for a full second, hands still loosely holding the shotgun, before it tilted sideways and crashed to the floor. The smell hit immediately: copper, cordite, and the hot, organic reek of bowels releasing. buckshot roulette
Leo’s hand trembled as he wrapped his fingers around the forestock. The weight was obscene. He looked at the muzzle. A dark circle, like a blind, staring eye. The Dealer picked up the shotgun
“Round three,” he said. “You’re the only player left. You pull until you get a hot one or run out of cold. House rules.” He racked the slide and placed it in the center
Leo closed his eyes. The steel was cold against his jaw. His breath came in short, wet gasps. He pulled the trigger.
“I know,” Leo said.