I kneel before London. “Take the switchblade from my pocket.”
The panic gleaming in her eyes gives way to horror. “What?—I’m not?—”
Nelson’s deep chuckle grates my already fraying nerves. “Oh, this is priceless. Just perfect.” He taps the barrel of the gunto his temple, as if he’s thinking. “Yes, London. You have to. A mercy kill to end his pain. You don’t want him to suffer an agonizing death.”
I swallow as I hold her gaze, resolute. “Put the blade to my throat, baby.”
“Grayson…” Her eyes seal shut. She knows this is the only way—but she’s fighting fate.
“Trust,” I whisper. I wet my lips, my mouth running dry.
Unsteady, she dips her head and places the softest kiss to my neck. She talks in a hushed tone, her swift words for my ears only. Then her hand slips into my front pocket and grasps my newest switchblade.
“I underestimated you, Nelson,” I shout down to him, keeping my gaze trained on London’s beautiful face.
When I’m gone, he’ll either shoot her or submerge her in the solution, finishing the job. The scene will be set. It’s brilliant, really. London and I—accomplices, lovers—destroyed by our own maddening devices, our own hands.
Such a perfect fucking ending.
Maybe that’s where London and I made our first mistake. Believing we could bottle our perfect piece of heaven. Immortalize it. Exist only for each other.
Maybe we still can.
But the higher we climbed, drugged on each other, ruling over a damned world that bowed and trembled before the god-like monsters we’d become, the harder our fall.
We are perfection.
And we are the fear that lurks beneath it.
We feast on each other and exist only for the highs…and even now, as I kneel before my dark goddess and pray for her mercy, I regret nothing.
We truly werehappy.
Maybe we still can be.
The razor-sharp edge of the knife presses into my throat andsplits my skin, and I release a hiss through clenched teeth. I search her golden eyes for the spark that tells me she’s ready. Her eyes are wild, filled with loathing contempt, her chest heaving as glistening beads of sweat dot her smooth brow.
My beautiful angel of mercy, now my vengeful angel of death.
“Do it,” I command.
Her hand steadies, the cold steel a tantalizing tease to my heated flesh.
“Close your eyes, Grayson.” Her voice is throaty and raw, wrapping me in her cruel, loving embrace.
I push against the knife, drawing blood. “I want to see the satisfaction it brings you.”
Her delicate throat pulses with a strained swallow. I feel the force of it in mine, my thirst for her never quenched. Even now, as she grips the weapon with both hands and begins to drag the blade across my skin, I yearn to taste her one more time.
Death at my lover’s hand. The ultimate reward and punishment for our perfection.
I couldn’t ask for a more perfect ending.
24
CORPUS DELICTI
LONDON
