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“This isn’t you, baby,” Trevor calls. “Hand me the gun.”
“I’m not your baby.” Her voice cuts through the torrential downpour like a knife.
Mack’s clothes are plastered to her body. Beneath her sleeves are likely bruises where he pinned her body to his while he dragged her out of Nicholson Manor. What else did he do to her while I was unconscious?
I hope she’s the reason he’s limping.
“If you kill me, you’ll be just as bad as me.” He stumbles toward her again. “Worse.”
“I’ll always be better than you.” The pistol shakes in her hands. “No matter how many times I shoot you.”
I hold my breath, and Trevor reaches for a gun hidden at his waist.
A loud pop and he stops dead in his tracks.
He clutches his side, and when he draws his hands back to examine them, they’re already crimson.
“That’s for the first time you slapped me.”
Another shot.
Trevor’s knees hit the ground.
“That’s for the first time you punched me.”
My tears mix with the rain. Saint’s arms wrap around me, still strong despite everything he’s been through tonight.
I flinch when another shot fires and Trevor screams.
“That’s for the first time you threw me into the wall.”
Pop.
“That’s for the first time you choked me.”
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
Blood pools in the grass around him, where he lies face down, motionless.
“That’s for the last time.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
BRIAR
With three witnesses reporting the same story and corroborating physical evidence, the police have no choice but to believe us. No matter how much I’m sure Officer Smith still wants to believe I’m responsible for everything.
When she arrived at the scene, she probably assumed I killed Trevor just like Austin Emmons and Dr. Barrett. But we all had the same story: Mack killed Trevor in self-defense after he struck her in the head and attempted to kidnap her. Physical evidence proved that I never touched Mack’s gun or fired it—none of my fingerprints on the weapon or any gun residue on my hands.
Law enforcement dug into Trevor’s past and uncovered the reports Mack filed against him that weren’t investigated, which only further corroborated our story. They also found all the disturbing evidence on his laptop.
The fire Trevor set to Nicholson Manor meant we had to cancel the writing retreat. Then when the Auburn Institute of Fine Arts decided to hold formal interviews to find someone to replace Dr. Barrett permanently, I put in my resignation. As much as I once loved the Auburn campus, the memories of Trevor and Dr. Barrett have tarnished it.
Besides, Saint was right. I’ve been guarding my heart my entire life, refusing to go after what I love out of fear. I love books. So I’m going to become a literary agent—S.T. Nicholson’s literary agent—and get him the best fucking book deal he’s ever signed. His next book is going to blow up, and even if it doesn’t, he won’t care.
