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Would I be as brutal and uncaring as I hoped? Or would the ground jolt, my world shifting until I was tilted, tilting, being canted over and shaken out into the galaxy, then free falling into an abyss of nothingness?
I’d thought about it, dreamed about it, planned for it. It became the reason I woke in the morning, as habitual to me as the intake of breath. And now, the answer, on the tip of my tongue: the erratic, trapped bird caged between my ribs fought to escape. My breathing, a tornado of emotion and drowning.
And yet, my hand—sure and steady.
I stared at the man standing over me, his gaze never leaving my face. Soft, sweet, intense, like a lightning strike to my soul.
I'd imagined this moment for so long. Gun to his head, him begging me not to kill him, apologizing for everything he'd ever done to me.
For killing my bastard parents, then abandoning me when I had nothing and no one else.
For leaving me vulnerable to that man, the one who tortured and controlled me.
And yet, I would never be the woman I was today without Knight’s betrayal.
As I stared into creek-brown eyes, I wanted to laugh. Should I thank him for it? Murmur my gratitude before blasting his brains all over yellow bed sheets?
I could practically hear Rook in my ear, his lips pressed to the flesh of my skin, whispering with all the ferocity and confidence that he always possessed, "Kill the bastard. He deserves it."
That was one thing that Rook and I had in common: we were both obsessed with Knight. How many late nights had we stayed up, me, with a glass of wine in one hand, discussing how to take him down?
Both conflicted, our love for him twisted and mingled with our hate.
It transcended the distance between us: we would never feel for each other as much as we felt for Knight.
It was that wedge that would always keep us eternally apart.
It was one reason I had to do this: we would never rest until he was dead.
I pulled the gun hidden behind my back, smuggled in only because it was plastic, 3D printed, with a ceramic bullet, even though my heart was pounding wildly.
Soon, it would all be over. I would never have to worry about falling for Knight again.
I would have my life again.
I could move on.
Inhaling a deep breath, I steadied my hand, pulling the gun upward, and clicked off the safety, aiming it straight for his dead heart. “You aren’t safe for me, Knight. I have to protect myself. You need to die.”
FOUR
Ignoring the gun in her hand, pointed right at me, I stood before Tatiana, my eyes tracing over her face, down to that beautiful freckle.
The sight of it reminded me of our childhood: brushing soft white sand from innocent, tanned skin. Climbing through an open window - the hot, muggy air clinging and sticky. Filtered moonlight lighting up a golden crown against stark, black-raven hair.
It was a time when the world stilled, except the pounding in my heart, blood rushing through my ears, and the warmth billowing in my chest.
I leaned over, my fisted hands digging into the bed. Staring straight into those midnight blue eyes, I pressed my forehead against the barrel of the gun. “You want to kill me, little polva?”
Her chest expanded, her breasts like pillows pressed against her tight corset. A fluttered pulse in her neck.
She was excited or nervous, I wasn’t sure which. But her hands didn’t tremble, her eyes didn’t stray from my gaze.
Did she really want to kill me?
Possibly. I wouldn’t blame her if she did. I never deserved her.
"Knight," she breathed, the press of the gun against my forehead suddenly disappearing. Replaced with soft, warm fingertips through my hair, a feather soft touch against my skin. "Knight, Knight, what have you been up to?” she murmured, her voice a low, tortured moan, pressing to my ear. "You still killing child molesters when no one is watching?”
