Heyyy to all you readers out there it's me again this time i thought i would branch out and do another couple this time it being a Traylor be second favorite couple. I love to know what you think and if you should continue on with this piece or should i just forget about it.. Let me know by leaving it in a review..Anyway enjoy this piece..

WhyDoesItHaveToRainOnMyParade xx

The gun felt heavy yet comfortable in my hand. The pearl stock, warmed by my body heat, fitted snugly against the palm of my hand. I now held Evans's custom- made semi-automatic in my hand and it felt good.

A real, honest-to-God gun in my hand.

A proper killing machine.

Or was that me? Where did I stop and the gun start? I really couldn't tell anymore.

Now what?

Evans lay on the floor, the previous torrents of blood that had been gushing from his nose now reduced to a trickle. His once crisp, white designer suit and matching designer shirt lay twisted in an ungainly manor around him. The random splashes of blood on Evans's suit made the whole thing look like an abstract painting. I started at one particular stain and that was the one that was right in the middle of his chest.

"It looks more like a Rorschach ink blot than a painting," I thought inanely

It reminded me of my own face in a skewed profile.

Now what?

Evans's blond hair hung like day old spaghetti around his face. It was streaked with random red highlights which occasionally dripped onto his shoulder. The red highlight were donated involuntarily by Evan's last victim. The assorted blood slpatters on his jacket alone would at least fill a couple of chapters in a forensic science textbook. I wondered the SOCO - scene-of-crime-officer - lucky enough to be assigned to Evans's body would be an art lover.

I glanced toward the office door. The heavy banging on it was beginning to get to me. The noise vibrated through my head. It was making it hard for me to think. I need to work out what my next move was going to be. Making a slow fist with my free hand, I dug my short nail deeply into my palms. I had to resist the temptation of the rhythmic drumming dictate my pace of thinking.

Think, Troy. Think

There had to be a way out this.

But even as the thought pushed it's way to the front of my consciousness, I knew that I was deluding myself. I had to turn and face the truth.

Time had run out.

'Bolton, dig yourself a grave and crawl into it cause you are dead. D'you hear me?"

I aimed a kick between Evans's legs and allowed myself a small smile as the blood splattered scumbag howled curling up. There was nothing and no one in Evans's office to stop me from getting a few kicks in. And if I was going to die... The smile that was on my face faded as Evans writhed on the floor.

As the sound of their boss's roar of pain, Evans's men pounded on the door harder so as to try and get into the office. Luckily that Evans's paranoia had seen to it that door was solid reinforced hardwood. The door would hold out for a while, though not even that door would hold out forever after the kind of punishments Evans's thug were dishing out to it. I reckoned that I only had a few minutes before they manged to get through the door and then only thing that would be in trouble would be me and not the door.

Could I do it? Could I really go though with this?

Hell, Yes.

There was a time, less than six weeks ago when I thought that a person could only sin so low. Sooner or later, you went down as far as you could and after that the only other direction you could go in was up. But just loving Taylor should be that Heaven had no roof, hating Evans and the Crosses had taught me that hell had no basement.

Evans began to laugh, even though his hands were cupped over his groin and he was still curled up he still found all of this funny. Creepy Evans, the hard man. My finger stroked the trigger. White fire blazed though my being instead of blood, burning away all thoughts and feelings i had. All the fear as well. I had a gun in my hand and it was like a syringe pumping one hundred percent pure adrenaline straight into my heart.

The banging at the door sounded more and more frustrated and the need to get through was become more insistent.

"You're dead, Bolton," Evans said again, "And there's nothing you can do about it."

I put the gun to the old mans head. Evan froze.

"Then that makes two of us," I stated softly. "That makes two of us"