Sawyer crawls toward him, wheezing and coughing, her red, watery eyes pinned to what I’m doing. I move the barrel from his chest to the hollow of his throat, the smell of burnt flesh immediate.
“Do you think I have what it takes to kill a man now?”
Sylvester’s eyes bug, and I grit my teeth, snarling as I dig the searing metal into his throat, delighting in his pained wails.
He fists the barrel with both hands, attempting to dislodge it, so I lean heavily against the butt of the shotgun, putting all my weight into it as it slowly but surely begins to sink into his throat. Blood bubbles from beneath it, and his wails turn into gasps, baring his teeth as he continues to struggle.
The barrel sinks further and further until he’s convulsing, and I hit his spine. Only then, do I stop and step away, ripping out the gun as I do.
Sylvester chokes on his own blood, seizing as he stares at the ceiling. Is he looking for God between the cracks of the wood, hoping he’ll see a glimpse? One tiny look into what he could’ve had before committing his heinous crimes.
I can assure him, if there is a God, He isn’t staring back down at him. I imagine His eyes are turned toward Kacey instead while the Reaper’s hands reach for Sylvester, dragging him to a place lonelier than Raven Isle.
Exhausted, I slide my gaze to Sawyer and find her already peering back at me. The whites of her eyes are red, making her blue irises even brighter. And those sad little fucking sapphires are exactly why love is so weak. One look from them, and I’m crumbling.
“Hello? Is anyone there? I repeat, is anyone there?”
The disembodied voice takes a moment to register. It’s far away, distorted, and just barely penetrates through my scattered thoughts.
“Hello? We received a transmission calling for help. I repeat, is anyone still there? We’re here to help.”
Chapter 34
Sawyer
Never thought I'd see another dead body.
Let alone two.
I stare at them with utter desolation. Blood is everywhere. All over the floor, splattered across the kitchen counters and walls. All over me. It's… all over me.
Enzo is setting down the weapon and prowling toward me, a savage expression on his face. His brows are pinched, a frown tugs down his lips, and little droplets of blood are scattered across the side of his cheek from when Kacey was shot.
He looks like a valiant king walking off the battlefield, returning to his queen after a hard-fought war.
Is this what it feels like to be treasured?
“Hello? Is anyone still there?”
“We need to answer them,” I say. When he reaches me, he crouches and lowers his chin, catching my eyes.
“You know what will happen once we do.”
My bottom lip trembles. “The coast guard comes.”
“The coast guard comes,” he repeats. “And they find a fugitive.”
I nod, dropping my gaze. I will have to go to prison for my crime and never see Enzo again. The former feels like when the other shoe finally drops. It’s almost a relief as much as it is heartbreaking. And the latter feels like a punch to the gut—hard enough to make me nauseous.
In all my years, I’ve never allowed myself to grow attached to anyone. It was impossible to when I knew I’d have to run again. Not only did I never want to risk being held down in one place, where I could eventually be caught, but I never wanted to put anyone else in the crossfire of my deception.
By the look on Enzo’s face, he looks prepared to grab my web of lies and wrap the strings around himself. But he’d only be creating a noose out of them.
It feels too simple to say that I’m in love with him. Maybe because I’ve known him for so little time, and we’ve already gone through hell together. Maybe even because we had a strong connection from the beginning, but it was so visceral and fueled by pain and rage that whatever it has morphed into is beyond a simple, sweet love.
“It’s what I deserve,” I mumble.
His finger notches my chin, forcing my gaze back up to him.
Enzo grips me by the back of my neck, holding me in place and tipping his chin down until he’s staring me deep in the eyes.
“You deserve the worst fucking punishment for what you’ve done,” he growls before slowly swiping his tongue across his bottom lip.
Mesmerized, my own lips part as his heated words burrow deep beneath my skin, setting me aflame.
“No one is capable of making you suffer more than me.”
There’s a rational part of me that reacts normally to his wicked implication—fear, adrenaline. But a larger part has always ruled my worst decisions, and I can’t help but feel thrilled. Excited.