He slumped to the floor in a bloody heap. I pressed the heel of my shoe against his right hand. “At least I know my demons, every last one. While you? You pretended to be the white knight when you were the fucking monster the entire time.”
“Get off me!” he roared, trying to shove to his feet, but one arm was pinned while the other was held against his chest, trying to stop the bleeding.
“No.” I knelt down, pointing my knife at his hand. “One finger for daring to touch her in a way other than love.” I sliced down, cutting the tip of his finger clean off while he screamed in pain. “Another finger for betraying me. Your family. Your brother!” I sliced down on his middle finger while he squirmed beneath me. His eyes rolled to the back of his head.
I waited until he recovered and was staring at me, glassy-eyed but aware.
“And one more finger…for betraying yourself.” This time, when the knife came down, he looked at me, really looked at me, like he was seeing me for the first time.
Slowly, I saw the fight leave his eyes, replaced with a sickening fear that permeated the room.
He suddenly knew I would be the judge, the jury, and the executioner of his life.
His only brother.
The man he had once called his best friend.
“You’ll have to kill me,” he growled.
“I know,” I reaffirmed in a voice void of emotion. “Because if I don’t, the Russians will.”
Tears filled his eyes.
I shook my head in disgust. “You’ve been suffering in a pool of misplaced jealousy while you pushed the only person you’ve ever truly loved away.” The knife clattered to the floor. “I hope that the betrayal on her face, the fear, the sadness in mine… I hope that’s what you see when I take your last breath, and I hope to God you ask for forgiveness in this life before I send you to the next. Pray God is merciful because I won’t be.”
With a cry, Tristian shoved at me, but he was too weak. I slammed him back against the carpet, both of my hands around his neck, while he struggled against me.
His hands clawing at mine, scratching, dying for relief while I looked into his eyes and squeezed.
Harder.
Firmer.
I took his life with my bare hands.
For our family.
For Eden.
Especially for my son.
A solitary tear slid down my cheek, splashing onto his face. I couldn’t help it, whispering, “Forgive me.”
His eyes widened and then shut completely.
His feet stopped moving.
His body went lax.
No more struggle.
No more fight.
No more air that he breathed.
I held onto his throat for a few more minutes until I knew for sure that he was dead and wasn’t coming back. I waited. Remembering all the times I had been there for him.
I had loved him.
I still loved him.
He was my brother.
My best friend.
And now, he was dead.
I stood, stumbling back. Realizing what I’d just done. I’d go to Hell for this if I wasn’t already headed there before. It was worth it.
She was worth it.
So was my son.
The last thing I saw before leaving that room and calling for cleanup was the moisture clinging to my brother’s face.
In his last moments, I wondered…
Did he cry for himself?
What could have been?
Did he cry for us?
Did he cry for her?
Or were those last tears selfish ones where his last thoughts were that while he rotted in Hell…
I’d be taking my Heaven.
Her.
Naz.
Mine.CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN“I’m sorry that you had to make me the villain of your story in order to stay in the light and keep the onlookers in the dark. Paint me however you need to paint me so the guilt doesn’t feel so heavy. I am light as a feather!” —Stephanie Bennett Henry
Romeo
NowShe’d screamed at me.
I’d said I wanted her fight back.
I didn’t want it directed at me.
Now we were at a standstill. She said she knew, but she didn’t. Not really. She didn’t know the blood that was on my hands.
She didn’t know why.
She shoved herself away from me until her back was to the wall, her eyes wild. “You killed Tristian, didn’t you? Just admit it! Say it!”
I opened my mouth, shutting it before opening it again. Whispering, “Who told you that?”
“Nobody! I saw it on my dad’s phone. So don’t try it, Casanova, don’t even think about seducing your way out of this or lying. I’m sick of your lies! Just for once in your life, give me the truth. I deserve the fucking truth!”
The truth meant I lost her.
The truth meant setting her free while burning myself alive.
It meant not seeing Naz again.
It meant walking out of her life when all I’d ever wanted was to be in it.
I would have taken anything.
Any crumb of attention I would feast on.
Instead, she wanted the truth, when all I ever wanted to do was lie to her, to keep her safe.