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For a split second, I think I see her, I think there might be a part left of that woman, that there is a sliver of hope for us. That thought vanishes when Amara pulls back and spits on me. My chest heaves, and my anger spirals out of control.
Releasing my grip on her hair, I wrap one hand around her throat, and the other along her jaw.
“I was kind to you, I understood you, and I cared for you. I still fucking do, but you knew if I found out, it would be his dead body on the ground. You heard him. He killed my mother. He put you in a fucking hole. He had to die. I had to kill him. You’re lucky you are alive.”
Clenching her teeth with deep anger as she tries to pull away, she seethes, “I would much rather be dead than have to fucking go anywhere with you.”
She can be mad all she wants. Her ass is still stuck with me. She has nowhere else to go and no way of protecting herself.
“You are coming with me, whether you like it or not.”
“Go to hell!”
“Already there, sweetheart.”
My fingers dig harder into her skin, and I know there will be bruises if I don’t stop.
“Fuck you,” she whimpers, pain slowly bleeding into her anger. I’ve caused her this heartache—I’ve done this to her.
I’ve taken the beautiful, innocent angel she was and molded her into this broken doll. I’ve shattered her beyond repair. Gripping her arm tight, I pull her toward the door, only to be stopped by her digging her feet into the ground.
“Fine, then,” I growl. Gripping her by the hips, I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder.
“Put me the fuck down!” Though I ignore her foul mouth, I can’t ignore the pounding and scratching on my back.
“You’re going to get us killed with your fucking screaming, yelling, and nonsense thinking,” I snap as I make my way down the driveway. I’m so fucking numb, my leg doesn’t even hurt. I hear her huffs, anger radiating out of her like an overheated furnace.
“Getting us killed? Are you fucking crazy? No, wait. You are! You just killed my dad in front of me. My dad…” Her voice cuts off, and I can feel her body shake with another sob.
Why do I still not feel any remorse? My mind tells me I should. My brain tells me I should hold her, comfort the woman I love, but my heart is empty, my chest void of all emotion.
“Yeah. You will get us killed if you keep your fucking yap open. While I know I just killed your father, I also know his men will kill us both if they find us. So shut your mouth. Mourn later. I never said I was a good man, Amara. I told you I was out for vengeance. Loving you wasn’t going to stop me from seeking it. Be mad, hate me, never love me again, but know you are still mine. You can’t run from me.”
Silence settles over us as her chest heaves against my shoulders. Her small fists stop hitting my back, and a moment later, her body goes limp in my hold.
Still, I feel nothing, and I can’t help but wonder if I ever will again.5AmaraMy chest heaves as I hold in the tears I desperately want to release. Enzo has ripped the last living person from my life. He shot and killed him in cold blood. It didn’t matter to him that I loved him—nothing mattered anymore.
He deposits me on the SUV’s cold leather seat and shuts the door, not saying a single word. I should open the door, I should run, kick, and fight him, but I know it would be useless. He would just hunt me down and haul me back here, and right now, I’m just too damn tired to fight.
As I sink further into the seat, my mind spirals further into the abyss. How could he do something so cruel? How could he kill someone and feel no remorse? John was my father—none of his wrongdoings changed that fact. None of it did. Now my dad is dead, and I have no one left. Nothing. I’m all alone in this world now—just like Lorenzo King.
“You’ll move on,” he whispers to no one. It has to be no one because I wasn’t listening to a fucking word he said. Once I get my strength back, I’ll leave the first chance I get. I will run. I will escape his hold. There is no doubt in my mind that Enzo is a living, breathing monster—far worse than the ones you heard about in fairytales.
“Maybe you don’t want to believe your dad was capable of such venomous acts, or you simply don’t want to face the music—either way, you had to know it would come down to this.” Enzo’s voice meets my ear, but it doesn’t sound like him. There is no emotion. He sounds like a robot spewing out information someone programmed him to say. Like a navigation system giving direction to a fucking coffee shop.
