“Don’t, Bobby. I’m frightened,” she said, but he ignored her. She whispered her fear, knowing even shouts and screams would be ignored. They’d played this game before.
He spun the cylinder with a glancing blow, hand flat against the revolver. One bullet and five holes quickly whirring, coming to a stop faster than any wheel of fortune should.
She heard the hammer click. She felt the barrel’s cool steel against her temple. She sensed the pressure of his finger squeezing the trigger. She met her end.
Bobby reloaded, this time filling every hole. Now it was his turn.