A menacing smile tips his mouth. “Then it’s my mission to resurrect her.”
I pound on the door until it opens. I throw myself past the guard, ignoring his questions as I rush down the corridor on shaky legs. The second I hit fresh air, it douses some of the heat still simmering beneath my skin—but the pain latches on violently, sending a searing rod deep into my back.
I scream.
14
DEPARTURE
GRAYSON
Ionly had theories. Remnants of the truth, pieced together from faded newspaper clippings and an old coroner’s report. But fear is a powerful thing, more than capable of dragging dark secrets to the surface. All it took was one threat to shake her. She doesn’t want the past unearthed.
She’s born to take lives.
It’s encoded in our DNA—the genetic signature of a killer.
Sounds like such an atrocity, to admit to being such a thing, yet we’re all born with purpose. Some to be healers and save lives, others to be defenders and advocate for them. So what’s wrong with our calling. The world is overpopulated and full of filth that needs purging.
It’s a calling fit for the torrid pit of hell.
And yet, it can be beautiful. An art form.
I rest my head against the seatback, imagining a younger, freer London driving a replica of her tattooed key into her father’s neck. The strength it takes to do this—the ruthless determination, the sheer hunger for the kill.
A thrill ignites my blood.
The man who gave her the only life she’d known, and she snuffed out his in an instant. Her hair wild, skin sheened with sweat, eyes gleaming. And then the serene look on her face that followed. The same one she gifted me as her body rolled with aftershocks of pleasure.
I want more. I want to experience this ecstasy with her over and over.
My pants tighten, and I adjust myself, forcibly resituating the aching part of me that I’ll deny relief until my beautiful London submits.
“Twenty minutes until we land.” Officer Micheals glances across his shoulder. “When we reach the ground, just give me an excuse to put a bullet in your head, Sullivan.”
He says this part lower, so only I can hear. His righteous anger pulls an amused smile from me. He was created for killing, too, but he’s deprived himself of the indulgence. Instead, choosing a profession that merely teases him, his trigger finger always at the ready.
What a painful existence.
I lean forward, causing him to noticeably tense. “When the time comes, it won’t be you who gets that pleasure.”
His lips curl in revulsion. “Move back, con.”
I obey, turning my attention toward the airplane window, where New Castle welcomes me home. No, Micheals won’t get his chance, and neither will the many others vying for their shot.
Just above my head, a box of my meager belongings holds my ticket out of this life.
I ease close enough to the window to see the curve in the horizon. All that appears endless and seamless has a twist.
But fuck, it makes fora great ending.
“All rise. Court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Arthur Lancaster presiding.”
Loud shuffling echoes through the courtroom, the pews packed full of the curious. The judge is a thin, aging man swallowed by his black robe. He orders the court to be seated, and I steal a moment to glance around, seeking her eyes.
London isn’t here.
My court-appointed attorney nudges me to face forward. After my hair was neatly trimmed, he had a black suit and blue tie delivered to my cell this morning, requiring my tattoos to be covered. As if appearing presentable could hold any sway over the jury.
