“Jesus, Countess,” a voice sounded from behind me, a mixture of relief and agitation threading through it.
I jumped, even though the voice was familiar. Swiss stomped around to face me, his eyes stormy. He was still wearing the same clothes from earlier. There was a small spec of blood high on his cheekbone.
“You scared me to fuckin’ death,” he clipped, bending down to pull me up. “And you’re chilled to the goddamn bone.” He rubbed my arms. “Let’s get you inside.”
I pulled out of his grip, even though I ached to sink into his warmth.
His eyes flared in surprise and what looked to be irritation.
“Did you kill him?” I asked. My voice would’ve been flat if not for the uneven tenor caused by my still healing throat.
Swiss’s expression cleared. “No,” he replied right away. “Not yet. He’s got a long way to go before he’s lucky enough to die.”
My knees started to shake. Not at the casual way Swiss was talking about killing, torture. Not even at the way something inside him burned with satisfaction. With hunger. Not even because the person he was talking about was the man I was married to.
No, all of that didn’t surprise or affect me. Although before all of this, Swiss had not shown me this part of himself—not entirely, at least—I knew existed. Knew that violence was a part of him. He’d shown me that the very first night.
My mind was not on Swiss. Not on Preston. Not even on myself.
“You can’t kill him,” I pled.
Swiss blinked very slowly. Once. Twice. “What?”
“You can’t kill him,” I repeated.
He stared at me. “You’re asking me to let the man who almost killed you live.”
I shook at his tone, but he didn’t pull it back, didn’t gentle his features.
He was too far gone.
“You want me to let the man who tormented you, beat you for years, live. The man who bruised you, scarred you, who discarded you in a fuckin’ ditch to die… You want me to let him continue to breathe air.”
When put that way, it sounded rather crazy. Preston did deserve to suffer. He did deserve to die. I wasn’t caught up on the ethics of it all, what version of justice needed to be served. I was caught on one simple fact: my daughter did not deserve to lose her father.
“I want you to let the father of my child continue to live, yes.” I forced my voice to be even in the face of Swiss’s fury.
“You don’t get to ask that,” he shook his head, stepping forward. Although I knew he wasn’t aware that he was doing it, his goal was to intimidate me with his size.
A fury of my own awakened. “Don’t I?” I snapped, going toe-to-toe with him. “When I’m the one he tormented for years. Who he beat for years. Who he controlled. I’m the one who lived through that. Suffered through that. Me.” I pointed to my own chest as I glared at him. “And I had one light through all of that. One gift. That was my daughter. My whole freaking world. I would go to war for her. I would die for her. I would do anything and everything in my power to ensure that she doesn’t have to feel a moment of pain. So I will suffer through knowing that Preston is breathing, even though he may not deserve to, because my daughter does not deserve to suffer.”
I was shouting now.
Almost screaming.
My lungs burned in pain from the force of it, and my head throbbed with my anger, but I wasn’t going to back down. Not on this.
Swiss was examining me coldly. In a way I fucking hated. Like he had the day Preston arrived.
He stepped back, pacing the patio like a violet animal before he turned to face me once more. “I get what you’re saying,” he said softly. “I don’t want to hurt your daughter. Or you. But I’m not gonna let him walk out of here. Not after what he did.”
His words were set in stone. As if they were law.
Swiss was used to his menace getting him places. Used to his ruthlessness resulting in him getting what he wanted through fear and violence.
So here I was again, with another man, one completely different than my husband in every way, but one who still planned to take away my power.
If I let him.