𝘀𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗹 𝘁𝗼 '𝗺𝗶𝗿𝗿𝗼𝗿' book 2 of 3
on the outside, looking in, bianca prescott was back to who everyone knew her as- kook princess, island royalty, who couldn't give less of a fuck about the pogues like they were poo on her jimmy choo's.
b...
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Bianca's eyes fluttered open, trying to blink away the confusion. When the white noise in her ears finally cleared in the aftermath of the gunshot, it was replaced with a deafening silence.
Her body went numb. She couldn't feel anything except the ice in her bones and the cold, metallic sensation of the gun still poised in her right hand. She glanced down, eyes flickering to her body, and swallowed thickly when she realized she hadn't been injured by the bullet.
But then she heard a choked gurgle emanate in front of her and her heart fell to the pits of her stomach.
Bianca's head snapped up, gaze meeting the dull, fading eyes of her father as he staggered backward. His hand desperately clutched his abdomen where a pool of scarlet seeped through his white button-up.
At once, a fountain of violent blood came from the wound, the ebb and flow in time with a terrified heart, killing the man all the faster. It mingled with the deck, taking on a rusty hue in the brilliance of the daylight.
Bianca felt her insides twist sickeningly, bile rising to her throat. Her grasp slipped from the gun, the metal clattering to the hard ground. She let out a shuddering exhale as she watched her father falter backward, attempting to regain his balance but ultimately toppling onto the railing of the ship.
Bianca lurched forward to catch him but he slid down against the side of the boat with a heavy thud, his body laying limp against the floor. The foreboding sense of dread that latched onto her throat was unlike anything she'd ever felt before.
Bianca fell to her knees beside him, "Dad?" She whispered lowly, eyes darting around his face frantically. "Daddy?"
Michael's features contorted into one of agony as he lay slumped against the railing. His shaking hand hovered over the bullet wound that ripped through his insides, his skin no longer deep brown but grey, and his fingers sticky with congealing blood.
The bullet had lodged in his guts, the blood still draining over his shirt and running warm through the coarse hairs of his chest. He let out a pained cough to clear his airways but instead, blood splattered out, coating his lips and dribbling down his chin.
This seemed to snap Bianca out of her daze as she darted into action, "Oh my god-" She gasped, pressing her hand over his against the bullet wound at his side. Despite the pressure she applied, blood still gushed between her fingers and oozed under her hand, "I'm sorry- I'm so sorry," She apologized profusely, watching as claret soaked her father's chest. "I didn't mean to-"
"I know," Michael wheezed out and encompassed his hand over hers. "Don't- don't cry, Bianca. It's okay. It's not your fault."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Bianca let out a choked sob.
