SHOT OF ANGER

© BJ Bourg

First published in seven By Seven” April 2006, Wolfmont Publishing

“You can't tell him—he'll kill you!”

Gina Baxter nodded. “Probably.”

Richard Constant paced the floor. “Think about what you're saying. You can't—”

“My mind's made up.” Gina walked to the door of the musky hotel room and paused. “Don't worry; I won't mention your name.”

Gina drove home and glanced at her watch. Six o'clock. Heath was due back from work any minute. She removed his 12-gauge shotgun from the gun cabinet and stuffed it under the mattress in their bedroom. She had just smoothened out the quilt when she heard the hum of Heath's Ford Mustang pull into the driveway. A minute later the front door opened.

“Baby, I'm home,” Heath called from the kitchen. He slammed the door shut and his boots echoed across the kitchen floor. “Where's supper?”

Gina looked up from the sofa.

Heath stopped and cocked his head sideways. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Why didn't you cook?”

“I was busy.”

“Busy? Doing what?”

Gina braced herself for what would happen next. “Having sex.”

Heath's eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“I was out at a hotel room, having sex.”

“You were what? ”

Gina swallowed hard. Her heart thumped in her chest. “I'm having an affair. I want out of this marriage.”

Heath fell back against the doorframe and slid to the floor. He stared down at his hands and his pale face slowly turned to crimson. When he looked up, Gina felt a chill reverberate up and down her spine.

“Who with?”

Gina shook her head. “That's not important.”

Heath pulled himself to his feet and flexed his hands. “I asked you a question. Who with?”

“I won't say.”

Gina gasped as Heath closed the distance between them and grabbed her around the throat. In one motion, he jerked her to her feet and smashed her back against the wall. He leaned close and Gina smelled the stench of anger on his breath. “Who with?”

Gina clutched at his hand. “Stop! I can't breath.”

Heath squeezed tighter. “This one's going to hurt really bad.” He leaned back and punched Gina full in the face. When he released his grip on her throat, she crumbled to the floor. He stomped and kicked her and then grabbed a handful of her hair. As he'd often done when he was angry, he dragged her into their bedroom and shoved her onto the bed. He began removing his clothes. Ribs burning and struggling to suck air into her lungs, Gina rolled off the bed and grabbed the shotgun. She pointed it at Heath's chest.

“This is the last time!”

Heath looked up and his eyes widened. “What—?”

Gina pulled the trigger. The hollow, metallic click was the loudest sound she'd ever heard.

Hellfire flickered in Heath's eyes. He snatched the shotgun from Gina's grasp and racked a round into the chamber. “You're dead! ”

Gina squeezed her eyes shut just as Heath pulled the trigger. The explosion was deafening. Gina's nostrils burned. There was a loud thump and then all was quiet.

Gina slowly opened her eyes and stared through the smoke at Heath's lifeless body. The front of his face was a mass of broken flesh, blood, and protruding metal. The shotgun was beside his body, the frame and barrel twisted and split. Despite the pain she felt, Gina smiled. There was no law against filling your husband's shotgun barrel with J-B Weld. This would be written off as an attempted murder that resulted in the suspect's accidental death. She would be viewed as the battered wife who cheated death.

Gina sighed. “Now, what are we going to do with Richard's wife?”

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BJ Bourg lives in southeast Louisiana with his beautiful wife and two wonderful children. For more information, please visit his website at www.bjbourg.com .