The Killer Queen ( Noella Briony ) novel Chapter 230

“Pal… Palmer! Do you even realize what you're doing? I'm your uncle! Your dad wouldn't dare point a gun at me like this!”

Eamon’s forehead was drenched in sweat, his jowls quivering with fear, and the wound on his leg oozed fresh blood due to his frantic movements.

Palmer sneered. “Uncle? You flatter yourself. Keeping you alive this long was my mistake.”

It was now clear that there were other ways to dig into the secrets he was after. He didn’t spare these worms so they could lay a finger on his fiancée.

Eamon shuffled backward awkwardly, his muscles twitching uncontrollably. “How dare you try to hurt me? I want to see Sexton! He won’t let you get away with this!”

Palmer just smiled. “I was planning to take you all out, but since I’m not the only one after you, it seems I can let someone else take the fall for this mess.”

Eamon shuddered.

What did Palmer mean by that? There were others out to get him too?

“Getting on in years, Uncle? Not hearing as well? Did you miss the gunshots just then?”

Recalling the earlier commotion outside the hospital room, Eamon realized someone else was indeed seizing the moment to end his life!

“Who is it? Who wants me dead!”

Palmer cocked his revolver and fired, the bullet piercing Eamon’s other leg, blood splattering!

“You ought to have an idea, Uncle.”

He spoke casually as if discussing trivial matters, his gun discharging several more rounds.

Eamon let out a gut-wrenching roar. “Ah! Palmer! I’ll haunt you even in death!”

His mouth issued threats, but his heart was flooded with terror.

With all the commotion and none of his bodyguards rushing in, Eamon knew Palmer must have dealt with them. These were international mercenaries—how did Palmer muster the courage and connections to be so brazen?

And with his own hit on Noella foiled, Eamon realized too late.

Palmer was a wolf in sheep's clothing! They should never have allowed him to grow up unscathed.

“No, you can't kill me. You still need to uncover the truth about your mother. You can't kill me!”

Palmer aimed at Eamon’s arm and pulled the trigger without hesitation.

“I won't be the one to kill you. It wasn’t me who harmed you, was it?”

Eamon’s body was riddled with bleeding wounds, the floor a gory mess.

Palmer, unbothered by the blood beneath his polished shoes, approached the desperate Eamon like a sovereign of the night.

He reveled in Eamon’s terror and his struggle against death. “Back then, you watched my mother die like this. Feeling all the blood drain from one’s body is indeed a fitting end. I won’t let you die so easily, Uncle Eamon. Enjoy your last moments.”

The bloodlust on Palmer’s face was like the whispers of a demon, echoing in Eamon’s ears. He was here for revenge—for the past.

“You… you can’t do this to me. Larson isn’t innocent either! And there are… others!”

Palmer nodded, wiping the blood from his hands. “Yes, I know. But Uncle Larson has to take the fall for your death, for now.”

Palmer would keep Larson alive, but in the most unbearable way possible.