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I’m peeing myself. Doing exactly the thing I wanted to bring Camden to do. Shattered into mosaic pieces of pain and agony.
“You pulled the trigger?” My teeth chatter.
“I did,” Camden confirms. “I’m sorry, Diabla. I was quite mad at you back then. Well, we both were a little over the top, weren’t we?” He chuckles.
My fists flex and my vision clouds. “Please. No more death. Let me take Nate to the hospital. You want me? You can have me. Just let him go.”
Camden shakes his head, sighing heavily. I look at the man I thought I used to love and hate myself for letting him into my life. His face drips malice, his usual cocky glint replaced with a mad glow. It’s the same insanity I saw in his father’s eyes before I finished him. An electrifying intensity that will shut off like a power outage the minute he’s dead. He blankets me in the scent of stale cigarettes and Royal Mayfair fragrance. His lips press into my throat.
“You’ll never be mine. I saw the way you looked at him. If I keep you, you will kill me. It would only be a matter of time. You’re a hurricane, Diabla. I can’t risk you blowing up my life.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I won’t, I won’t. I promise. I’m done. Let me take him and I’ll leave. You have my word.”
He seems to be considering this. His hand is still buried in my hair as he strokes it lightly. Lovingly. Sickly. Is Camden about to do the right thing for once? He finally believes me when I say his father raped me all the time I was trapped in that apartment.
“What happened to us, Prescott? We could’ve been good together. Now I have to kill you, so you won’t kill me.”
“No you don’t. I’ll stay away.”
“You’ll be desperate and poor,” he snaps. His palm twitches as he fights the urge to slap me. “And you’ll get back to doing what you do best—hustling. If I let you go, I’ll need to make sure you’re being taken care of financially.”
The conversation confuses me. My head is about to explode. Does Camden want to help me now? After killing my brother? After killing my lover?
“My father touched you.” I hear his voice above my head. “Repeatedly.”
I nod, eyes on the ground. “Seb would watch. It was the only thing that made him smile.”
When I look up, a tear hangs on his fair lashes. That’s when I see that behind the cheater, the abuser, the man who ruined me, my baby-brother’s killer, is still the thirty-year-old guy I once fell for. His eyes flicker as mine turn off.
“Kill me,” I whisper. I mean it. I’ve nothing to live for anymore without Nate and Preston.
He kisses my lips and I let him, because it doesn’t matter anymore.
“No, Diabla. That wouldn’t be fair. Know what is fair? Russian Roulette. A game of chance and dare. Now, there’s only a single round in my revolver. Then again,” he says and brushes the barrel softly across my cheek, whispering into the shell of my ear, “It’s my lucky bullet in there. Life or death? Decisions, decisions. Where do you want me to aim the gun?”
“Temple,” I swallow. I want it to be quick.
“Not very original, but whatever tickles your fancy.”
I feel the gun sliding against my sweaty temple effortlessly, plowing into my flesh like a nasty migraine, and squeeze my eyes shut.
The sound of the spinning cylinder dances in my ear, so terribly close, and I hold my breath, the air trapped in my lungs. I want to die. I need to rest. I need my peace. Maybe it won’t be in the form of Nate, but at least it’d be quiet. At least I’d be safe.
The cylinder stops spinning and everything is illuminated by the silence.
Click.
Am I alive?
I don’t know.
I feel my body quivering frantically, sweat and my own urine making me glide across the floor. But I also feel pain. I need to do something. Try and lift my hand or blink. Why is it so hard to move? My brain commands me to do something, but my body doesn’t comply.
My brain. It still works. The realization sends shivers down my arms.
I’m alive. I’m going to be okay. If Nate makes it out of this room with me. If not, the bullet might have been the best thing that could’ve happened to me.
“Camden,” I plead. He knows what I’m asking for. Uttering it aloud is unnecessary.
“This guy doesn’t deserve you.” Camden throws himself back on the recliner and pats his pants for his pack of smokes. Lighting up one, he sends a rancid cloud to the ceiling. “Besides, he’s probably dead.”
“It’s over. Everybody got what they deserved. Let’s just move on.” I prompt. Other than you. You get to walk away unaffected. I killed his dad, but Camden only ever cared about the money and the power. The thought of letting him walk away from this makes sour bile tickle my throat, but I care more about Nate.
