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He met my gaze, his steely blue eyes so like Bourbon’s, met mine.
It was the grin he gave me that made me freeze in place. Several guns were pointed at my head, and yet, strangely in this moment, I thought about Bourbon.
I wondered how often this had happened to him and understanding washed over me like a tidal wave.
While I was busy messing around with Lily, Bourbon had been at my father's side.
When we were younger, Bourbon had been full of life, and he’d mutinied against our father often. But, the older we grew, the colder and more detached Bourbon became, and the rebelliousness slowly drained from him.
I’d hated it at the time, but now, I finally got it.
You don’t dwell with evil and it not touch you.
In that moment, any doubts about the kind of man I was becoming bled out of me, replaced with something stronger.
Something so powerful, that it would take my own father killing me to rip it out of me.
It was a fierce corruption of my own soul.
I had to become the devil to defeat evil.
I was going to do whatever it took to get Bourbon and Rose free, so they could live a happy life together.
They both deserved it.
And, as my father loomed over me, I matched his cold, manic grin with one of my own, and swore to make him suffer for his sins.
Tonight was going to be hell, but unless he killed me, I was going to outmaneuver him, no matter the cost.
Sixteen
I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. The look in Coulter’s eyes before his lips connected with mine.
The promise in his gaze when he pulled back. The flash of vulnerability, the hope in his eyes.
So, he wasn’t an emotionless robot after all.
I was beginning to doubt he had it in him, especially after his words in the garden.
My musings fled as I waited at the back edge of the fence and a horde of headlights advanced down the long driveway, straight for the house.
I anxiously watched as they swarmed the house. When Coulter didn't come out after a few minutes, I knew something was wrong.
Creeping back through the large, fenced in area, I raced towards the old, leaning barn, searching inside it.
I swear I wasn't a pyromaniac, but if duty demanded it, I was happy to lend a hand.
I mean, they had exactly what I needed, almost feet from each other. It's like they were asking for it.
Happy to oblige, motherfuckers.
Dragging one of those wooden pallets, I shoved it under the gas tank of an old, paint-chipped Ford truck. The thing looked like it was from the eighties; it would burn nicely. As I poured a twenty gallon tank of gasoline on it, I wondered if it would blow up like it did in the American movies.
I wasn't going to stick around to find out.
Checking one last time to make sure that Coulter was still stuck inside, I pulled the lighter out of my pocket.
"You've been a good toy," I purred to it, then blew it a kiss goodbye, throwing it onto the bed of the truck.
