Roulette: Buckshot

Leo closed his eyes. The steel was cold against his jaw. His breath came in short, wet gasps. He pulled the trigger.

Leo, the youngest, had sweat blooming through his denim jacket. He owed thirty grand to the wrong people. The Dealer was those people’s collector. Win, and the debt was void. Lose, and the debt was paid by his beneficiary—his little sister’s tuition fund. He’d signed the waiver.

Click.

He loaded the shotgun under the table, out of sight. Click, click, click. The slide racked once. Then he placed it back down.

He passed the gun. His hand was steady now. Funny what terror does. buckshot roulette

“I’m out,” he said, voice cracking.

“Buckshot roulette,” he said, voice a gravel pit. “Not your pussy Russian game with one bullet. We got buckshot. One shell, it’s full of number-four buck. Nine pellets. The rest are blanks. You pull the trigger on the hot one, you don’t get a little .22 in the dome. You get your head turned into a canoe.” Leo closed his eyes

This time, the recoil kicked her hand away. The left side of her head simply ceased to exist. She was gone before she hit the table, collapsing forward into the spreading puddle of Darius’s blood. The shotgun clattered onto the floor.