“Karah.” I release her father and stumble back. It’s too late—he’s far past dead. I land hard on my knees and stare at her, breathing hard, sweating.
Neither of us speaks. Her father’s motionless on the floor behind me, a cooling corpse, and I feel so drained like all the rage was sucked right out of me. I’m exhausted, so goddamn tired, and if she screams, I won’t try to stop her.
I’ll take what I earned. I won’t fight.
She turns and runs without a sound.
“Karah!” I get to my feet and start to chase, but she’s sprinting away, running wildly.
I watch her go and lean against the wall, breathing hard.
Don Bruno is dead.
I killed him. After all this time, I finally killed him, and as I look back at his corpse, I don’t feel a fucking thing.
No happiness, no joy. Nothing’s changed, nothing at all.
I’m still broken. I’m still a horrible wreck.
And soon everyone will know what I did, and Casso will shoot me himself.
Chapter 30
Karah
I run.
I run and run and run and run.
I run so fast and so far that I trip and nearly fall down the steps.
I can’t scream. I want to scream, but I can’t.
People are everywhere.
My head’s a mess. I’m dizzy, disoriented. Nico’s shocked, anguished stare is a brand on the inside of my skull.
Drunk people, laughing people. Happy faces, horrible, twisted faces. I burst out the back door and stagger into the darkness. Goosebumps cover my flesh. The tent’s still full of bodies, laughter, partying.
Two topless girls float in the pool. Their nipples are hard and their breasts bob up and down. One looks at me, smiles, and waves.
A man sits on one of the lounge chairs while another young girl sucks his cock. Her head moves up and down and she makes slurping, gagging sounds as he shoves her down deep, his cock sliding into the back of her throat. She moans when he lets her come up for air. He leers at me. I realize it’s the mayor.
I want to throw up.
I want to scream.
Nico killed my father.
Papa’s dead.
I watched him do it and I didn’t stop him.
Nico’s hands wrapped around my father’s throat squeezing.
I woke up in bed alone. I didn’t know where Nico had gone, so I put on some clothes and went looking. I figured he might be in the library, drinking and reading, and I planned on curling up on the couch beside him, maybe put my feet in his lap, maybe my head. I was smiling. I was so happy to find my husband.
But when I stood in the doorway and saw him kneeling over my father, his hands choking him, Papa’s face turning blue and purple, all I could think about was that dream.
The dream of my father’s hands wrapped around some faceless person’s throat, squeezing.
I pull my hair hard and I don’t know what to do. I stood there doing nothing and watched for nearly a minute. I let it happen and I don’t understand why I didn’t make a sound. All I had to do was scream, or shout, or anything, and Nico would’ve stopped, and Papa would’ve survived, and someone would’ve come to help me. Security, my brothers, anyone. Instead, I stood and I stared as my husband killed my father.
I don’t understand why he did it.
I stumble, stagger. I need to get away from the house, from all these people. A man shouts my name and I can’t answer. I’m stuck in a loop, my brain jumping from Nico strangling Papa to Papa strangling someone else and if I could only see who Papa’s killing and understand why Nico’s killing Papa then maybe all of this will make sense.
But my head’s stuck, it’s broken, and my thoughts lurch and stutter as I stagger into the night, leaving the tent behind. I’m heading for the gate at the base of the property, and beyond that, the desert. It’s cold, crisp, and I can see my breath, and I’m not wearing any shoes, but what’s it matter?
I knew this would happen.
On some level, I knew.
Not the shape—not the specific circumstances. But I knew what joy I had with Nico would be smashed against a wall and left to rot in the sun.
I’m never given happiness for long.
I reach the far gate. The guard’s asleep behind his little desk so I climb over the fence. I cut my hands on the jagged iron and scrape my feet on the rough rocks below but I welcome the pain right now. I welcome it and want it, like I wish the aching between my legs would go away.
Like I wish the taste of Nico’s tongue and the feel of his lips on my skin and the sick carnal pleasure of my orgasm would just dissipate into the night.
I stagger on, following the road, away from Villa Bruno. I don’t know how long I walk or how far I get, but I’m finally so tired I collapse down to my knees and lean my head forward. There’s nothing around, only the quiet road to my left and a long stretch of rock and burnt-red ground to my right.