I open the door to the room that holds his fucking shit parents for the last time. Rebecca’s head rolls from side to side. I can seehow dilated her pupils are from here. Daniel is not in any better shape.
“I had to give him the shot as well. He thought it was nap time.” Duncan tells me from the chair by the door.
“I need to end this and get Colton home.” I walk to the cart and pick up the gun. Its weight in my hand reminds me of the finality of what is about to take place. I would rather make this last for days. To hear them both scream for mercy, knowing there wouldn’t be any for them.
Daniel swings his gaze up to mine and then at the gun. “You’ll burn in hell for this.”
“See you there. I’ll spend the rest of eternity making you suffer.” The bullet hits its mark. A stream of blood flowed from the hole in his forehead. I repeated the shot with Rebecca.
“It isn’t over yet, Ronan,” Duncan says as he walks to my side.
“I know. I’m taking Colton and Ollie home. Let me know when Conor and Finn have them.” I leave the room. Uncle Duncan will see to the cleanup and disposal of the trash. I quicken my step wanting to get to Colton now. Leaving him alone for too long would give him time to think, and he shouldn’t be alone for that.
He’s sitting on the bench near the front door. His head leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. His finger moves slowly back and forth across the hem of his t-shirt, fingers shaking slightly.
“Colton,” I wait for him to look at me. He doesn’t. I kneel in front of him and place my hands on his thighs. “It’s over. You never have to think about them again.”
He opens his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Do you think I’m weak because I left?”
“No.”
“Everyone in your family, including your Mom, would have done it themselves. I walked away.” His voice is so quiet when he says it that I have to lean closer to hear him.
“You’re not weak. You took Ollie and ran. You saved your brother.” I raise my voice just enough to stop whatever he is going to say. “And because of you, the kids that were sold will be saved. No other kids will be taken. You did that alone. You are one of the bravest people I know.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
“It will. Processes this complicated take time. Let’s go get Ollie and go home.” I take his hands in mine and stand, pulling him up with me. His arms wrap around my waist before I can lead us to the door. Goosebumps rise on my skin from his breathe ghosting over my neck as he nuzzles in.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I told you before I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”
He pulls back to look at me, but tightens his hold on me. A small smile crosses his lips right before he presses them to mine. As I kiss him back, the positive feeling intensifies. A tingle in my belly turns to a burn in my chest. This man is mine, and fuck anyone who tries to take him from me. He gives me one last gentle kiss.
“Let’s go.”
I take his hand and lead him to the car. The drive back to my parents’ house is silent. I drive with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. Every so often, he squeezes my hand. Should I ask him if he wants to talk about it? Or should I just let him decide when he wants to? His body language is relaxed but not in the usual way. This is more in line with exhaustion. The last couple of days have been hell for him. Held at gunpoint,watching someone get shot, and then the elimination of his parents and abuser. I shouldn’t have let him stay in the room. I should have protected him more than I did. Leather creaks when my hand tightens on the steering wheel. I failed him again.
Chapter 39
Colton
My parents are dead, and I know that should make me sad. No matter what they did to me, no matter how horrible they were, they were still my parents, the people who were supposed to love me and take care of me no matter what. But all I feel is relief. Relief that they are gone and can never hurt me or Ollie again.
Even before they dragged me into the cult, they were never good parents. When I think back on my childhood, the memories that come first are never warm ones of family dinners or bedtime stories. Instead, I remember standing in front of them asking for help with homework and being told no, or asking if there was anything to eat and hearing that I could make it myself.
Five-year-old me had to stand on a chair in front of the microwave and try to figure out how it worked because there was no one willing to help me. Seven-year-old me was terrified every day at school that I would lose my house key because I knew there would be hell to pay if I did. By the time I was a teenager, I had already learned not to ask them for anything at all. I went to school, worked my part-time job, and handed over every cent of my paycheck because it was easier than fighting with them about it.
Those are the good memories. The bad ones are so much worse. The beatings. Being locked out of the house and forced to sleepon the porch. Being shoved into a closet and left there for hours in the dark. I learned early on that the safest thing I could be was invisible, only speaking when they wanted me to, only existing when it was convenient for them.
That was what being their son meant.
I lean my head back and close my eyes. Ronan’s hand on my thigh is the only thing keeping me from breaking apart. The heat from his touch seeps into me. It’s only been days since we met, but he’s become the thing in my life that makes sense. The person that I can rely on. Most people would be running by this point. A psychopath who kills people, who also has a family that does the same. I must be crazy because I don’t want to run. I want to lean into it, into him.
“We’re here,” Ronan says softly.
I have been so wrapped up in my mussing that I didn’t notice that we are at his parents’ house. Without raising my head, I turn to look at Ronan. His brows are drawn together as he studies my face.
