Page 19 of Sick Little Devotion

Finally.

He mutters unintelligible words, and I don’t fucking care to understand what he’s trying to say.

“Ready to die?” I shove the shotgun into his chest.

He whimpers, now sobbing uncontrollably. It’s about fucking time, but I need him to fight. I dig the muzzle into the back of his throat again, and he gags. Finally, his hand flies up to mine in protest, trying to push the pistol out of his mouth. The moment his touch brushes my index finger, I pull the trigger and instantly release the gun.

A muffled sound fills the guesthouse. Blood splatters like red paint across the headboard and walls. I feel a burst of relief and excitement thrum through my chest. It was too easy. He made it too easy, but in return, it keeps things clean for me. I doublecheck the placement of the gun, ensuring that it’s in the proper place for suicide. I’ve done my due diligence in research. If it turns into a murder investigation, there’s no doubt it’ll lead to me.

And it’s hard to be a good husband when you’re in prison.

I stand there for a few moments, taking in the gruesome sight of Ron, lying limp on the bed. There’s blood soaking the pillows around his head, and the gun lays right beside him on the bed. Even in death, he looks pathetic. Disgusting. Will should be shocked when he finds him. At least, I hope so.

My shotgun stays at my side as I ease out of the room. It’s a backup plan—just in case someone tries to stop Sara from leaving with me. I’ll kill anyone for her. Well, except kids. No one should ever hurt kids. I take one last look at Ron, wishing I could take a picture of the glorious moment, but I don’t. That would be hard to explain.

Which is why I don’t even have my phone on me.

It’s back at the house. My head continues to spin with anticipation as I exit the pool house, leaving the door unlocked just like before. There’s a part of me that wants to lock it, but that might be out of character for Ron—and then in return it would be suspicious. I’m worrying too much. But I can’t risk doing anything to lose Sara.

Hands trembling, I cut across the yard to her window. I peer in and see her lying on top of her covers. I furrow my brow at the sight. It’s almost as if she knew I was coming—except the door to the bedroom is open. She’s propped up on her pillows, her body angled toward the door.

Interesting. I go to jimmy the window, and I instantly realize that it’s locked. I let out a sigh and jiggle it a little harder. Thankfully, the levers on the window are trash, and I’m able to get it open with minimal effort. Still holding the shotgun, I slide through the window and slip across the room in silence, closing the bedroom door.

She’s too close to the others to have it open. I can’t risk her having a knee-jerk reaction. I don’t want to commit mass murder if I can avoid it. I turn back to look at Sara, and she’s still sleeping peacefully.

It’s time to come home now.

Chapter Nine

SAHARA

No, no, no! He’s not going to get me.

I thrash and flail as a heavy hand comes down on my mouth. I know it’s him. It’s Ron, and he’s come back to make me pay for disrupting his fun. After I saw the reaction that he had to my mother and me, I knew that he’d come for me.

My right fist hooks the side of someone’s face, and a low grunt escapes from them. It doesn’t sound like Ron, and as strong arms force me up into a sitting position, my eyes finally flutter open…

I can’t fucking breathe.

Lips quivering beneath his hand, I take in the sight of the familiar yet somewhat foreign face of the man who fucking destroyed my heart. His dark brown, almost black eyes, still have the same golden flecks, and under the moonlight streaming through the window, I can make out the sharpness of his jaw and perfectly masculine nose.

Those lips.

I’ve always been slightly obsessed with how his full lips added softness to his masculine chiseled features.

Aiden.

What a confusing surprise.

“Sara, we have to go,” he says in a rough whisper.

For a moment, I’m frozen, stuck there in the shock of his presence. The sound of my name on his lips sends my heart rate into chaos as if each syllable carries a weight. His voice is deeper now. His cologne permeates the air, and while slightly different—more expensive—it’s still a similar scent. His soft brown hair is shorter than before but still long enough to be slicked back. He’s older, but he wears the age better than I ever imagined…

“Sara, come on.” He tugs me upward again, and I go rigid. The realization finally slams into my chest as my heart shatters.

I’m not going anywhere with this man. Not in the middle of the night. Not ever. I rear back and go to punch him again, but he’s faster than me, blocking it with his shoulder. I try to scream, but he clamps his hand down even harder.

“Stop it,” he growls, his face etched with frustration. “Get the fuck up, so we can leave. We can’t stay here.”