The tears flow harder, and I feel her shaking intensify as I say softly, “He deserves it, Sara. You know he does. It’s regrettable that others had to die in his stead, but that’s how this world works. It’s not fair. It’s not just. I know—because if there was any fairness in this life, my son would be here with us today. Instead of dying with a toy car clutched in his fist, he’d grow up to drive the real version. He’d go to school and go out on dates. And one day, at some point in the future, he’d meet someone he’d love as much as I love you—someone who’d make him forget about life’s brutal lessons.”
She’s crying now, pounding on my chest and sobbing, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her as the dam finally cracks and she gives in to her pain.
As she faces her grief and loss.
80
Sara
I cry for what feels like hours, so caught up in my pain that I barely feel it when Peter picks me up and carries me over to the couch in the living room. As he holds me on his lap, gently rocking me back and forth, I grieve for my parents and for the man I killed, for Peter’s victims and for Pasha and Tamila. And most of all, I grieve for the woman I had been once, one who couldn’t imagine taking a life… or loving a man capable of murder.
It hits me in waves, all the pain and guilt and rage. God, there’s so much rage. I didn’t know I had it in me. If Henderson were here now, I’d kill him with my bare hands. I’d watch him die and bask in every gruesome moment. Despite all odds, Peter and I had built our dream life together—only to lose it all in a few devastating minutes.
Is that what it had been like for Peter when Pasha and Tamila had been killed? Did he feel like this—like his world had suddenly stopped spinning?
As I cry, I relive it all—all the memories I’ve fought so hard against. I hear the gunfire and the roar of the chopper, smell the blood and panic in the air. I see my parents die and feel the cold weight of the gun in my hand as I pull the trigger… once, twice, a third time.
I remember what it felt like to see the agent’s face explode and to know that I took a human life—that deep inside, I’m capable of all the same things as Peter.
I cry for that and for the knowledge that my child will never know a truly peaceful life, that he or she will grow up in a world colored with shades of darkness. I cry for my dad, who never got to be a grandfather, and for my mom, whose last moments were spent hunched over her husband’s dead body.
I cry for them and I rage at fate, and all the while, Peter is there, holding me.
Lending me his strength, so I can fall apart without breaking.
81
Peter
I wait until Sara’s sobs quiet down before I give in to the dark heat brewing in my veins. For a solid hour, I’ve held her on my lap, feeling her supple body shake and tremble, her shapely ass squirm all over my groin as her soft breasts rubbed against my chest.
It’s wrong to crave her this way when I’ve just witnessed the depths of her suffering, but I can’t help it. Her agony has scoured me raw, stripping away the thin gloss of civilization masking my baser urges.
I’m a beast unleashed, and she’s my prey.
Savagely, I kiss her, tasting the salt of tears drying on her lips as my hands rip at her clothes, baring her smooth skin. She’s passive at first, drained by the emotional storm she’s undergone, but before long, her slender arms wrap around me, and she kisses me back, her hands tearing at my clothes with matching ferocity.
My T-shirt lands on the floor, joining the pile of her clothes, and then she’s fumbling with the zipper of my jeans as she straddles my lap naked.
“Let me,” I order hoarsely when it seems to be taking her forever, but she’s already got it, and my cock springs free, swollen and aching, desperate to be buried in her tight, wet heat.
“I love you,” she gasps as I plunge deep, and I feel her inner muscles clench around me, squeezing me, welcoming me despite the pain I must be causing.
Just like she’s embracing me despite all the suffering I’ve brought into her life.
I don’t deserve her love, her forgiveness, but as I slide my fingers into her hair, holding her still for my devouring kiss, I know that I have it.
That she is truly mine, for better or for worse.