story premise...

The steel was cold, damp from lying in my hands too much of the night and into the dawn. My hand was numb to the point of rigidity, left arm frozen in support. No way was I dropping that gun. No way was I dying that day. But hopefully my finger would stick when it came time to finally shoot. If I had to shoot. It was not so much cold that day as wet and gray, but anything was cold to me while I prayed for the sun. Mick’s breath was more than warm on the back of my neck but both lying prone in such a small space, him behind me, there was no choice. More than warm. Even as he lay half conscious from loss of blood there was evidence of his arousal in proximity to me…more than warm. Solid, my grip on the gun and Mick pressed against my ass. That’s all that kept me alert, my own loss of blood almost irrelevant. Almost. If I didn’t pass out soon, the craving would take me and I could smell his blood still pulsing under his shallow breathes. Daddy had fought too long to keep me from turning for me to turn now. Fought hard to keep me as I was, his blade of justice. But daddy was getting older and even his hatred couldn’t keep him alive much longer. That I was his seed had barely kept me alive in my infancy. That I was his tool of revenge though, kept me useful. His tool, their tool. And I never once used my own given weapon, always used steel heavy or sharp.