Tristan tries to raise his gun despite the pain crippling him, but I get to him before he can level it at me.
I step on the offending hand as hard as I can. Bones crack under my boot. While he screams, I kick his gun away.
“Were you going somewhere?” I ask casually.
I can hear the chaos raging behind me. Gunshots, screams, grunts of exertion, and moans of pain. It’s all white noise to me now. My full attention is on the pathetic worm at my feet.
“Fuck you, motherfucker,” he hurls at me.
Because really, what else does he have? He can only hope to fling a few weak insults my way.
“Any last words?” I ask.
“Brody will fucking kill you.”
I smile. “He’s welcome to try. But I think you’ll find I’m like a cat. Got nine lives. I’ve used a few already, but I have plenty left to spare.”
“It won’t matter,” he snarls, looking at me with eyes that betray his fear.
He can see his death in my face and he knows there’s no escape now.
“I’m under her skin and in her head,” Tristan continues. “I’m watching her. I’ve always been watching her and I always will be.”
“The dead don’t see.”
“I will live on,” he insists. “I’m inside Saoirse. She’ll never be able to truly be happy with you. I’ve imprinted myself in her fucking skin.”
“You’re right,” I concede, squatting to the ground in front of him and putting my gun down for a moment.
He eyes it warily, but he doesn’t make a move towards it. At least he’s smart enough to know that that would be pointless.
“I’ve seen her scars,” I tell him, pulling out the knife I keep concealed in my boot. “I’ve seen every single fucking scar you’ve inflicted on that perfect body of hers.”
His eyes go wide, locked on the blade dancing between my fingers.
“And unfortunately for you, I’ve always believed in poetic justice,” I inform him in a level voice at the same time that I seize his forearm and slice it from wrist to elbow.
He screams and tries to pull away, but he’s too fucking weak. Blood is getting everywhere, muddying the dirt.
But I’m far from done.
“The harder you struggle, the worse it’s going to be,” I soothe. “Just relax. Accept it.”
I continue to slice across his body, mimicking the scars and wounds I’d seen on Saoirse’s body.
“This is my love letter to Saoirse,” I tell him, as he continues to scream and yell and squirm beneath my knee on his chest. “I’m a romantic at heart. Not many people know that about me.”
By the time I get to his stomach, he’s a blubbering mess and the light is starting to fade from his eyes.
The angry, confident man who’d boomed my name in the courtyard a scant while ago has all but disappeared.
What I have before me is a dead man breathing.
“There,” I say, rising to my feet and taking a step back. “My finest work yet.”
I can only see the whites of his wide eyes as he watches me back away from him.
“Ki… kill me…” he begs.