Finally, he stops the car in front of the bar’s back door. Sergio is waiting. Lucas nods to the back, and Sergio opens the door, grabs Merci, and pulls her out somewhat carefully. Brody follows, leaving Lucas and me in the car.
“You won’t forget this, will you?”
He was careful not to use the word forgive.
But forget.
“No, never. It’s hard to forget such a vile human being. Someone who thinks because he once paid me to fuck him that he has some sort of claim over me.”
“He had none.”
Just then, I hear a menacing laugh, so I twist my head in the direction of the sound to see Malik walking out of the bar’s back entrance.
It happens slowly.
I feel it in every piece of me as I turn around to face him.
This is it.
This is the part where I will ruin my life.
But nothing will stop it.
Quickly, I get out of the car, the gun still in my hand. I hear Lucas’s voice but don’t register what he says as I raise the gun, then shoot into the eyes that have haunted me for days.
The asshole drops to the ground like a sack of shit, blood flowing out in a glorious pattern from the wound.
“What did you do?” Lucas bellows as we both stare at his father, who lies dead at our feet.
Chapter Five
Lucas
My father lies there on the ground in front of a building I walk in and out of every single day. Yet, instead of walking in today, I’m standing here next to Chanel, who’s holding the gun she just used to kill him.
Blood doesn’t faze me, it never really has, but as I see father’s blood pool around him, I wonder, is it meant to be so dark? Or is it just the concrete? Or perhaps it’s because his soul is so much darker than a normal person’s?
Licking my lips, I face her.
Chanel takes two steps back from me, the gun still in her hand but now raised and pointing at me.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t have done that after what he did?” she asks, her hands trembling. If she shakes too hard with her finger still on the trigger, will she shoot me as well?
“Give me my gun, Chanel.”
She backs away from me, the gun still in her hand, and shakes her head. “That’s not going to happen.”
“That’s my gun, Chanel.”
“Chanel, Chanel, Chanel,” she mocks me. “Fuck you and the way you say my name, asshole.” Her eyes skate to my father, and if I look down at him again, I know I’ll do something I’ll regret.
She killed him.
Granted, he is—no was—an asshole, and I did more than expected for him.
But she killed him.
Lights shine behind her, and we both look in that direction.