Bradley’s bushy brows twitch together. “Harris?”
I nod. “They swapped masks because they were working together the whole time! P-Peter was never missing. He was the other mask. He was there at every robbery, he was there the night I shot you, and he was… he was with me in the car that night on the cliff. It washim.” The words tear out of me like vomit and my throat burns. “He swapped masks with Harris because Harris didn’t want to wear the most recognizable mask and Peter probably thought it was cool, and so it was him, it was him in the car and he tried to kill me, but I got him killed instead and he’s dead, he’s really fucking dead, oh, my God.”
I burst into tears, gasping and sobbing as waves of deep despair wash over me. Bradley immediately gathers me into his arms and hugs me against his broad chest, but it doesn’t soothe the agony pouring out of me. Each tear down my cheeks burns with guilt, every sob rasps past my dry throat like sandpaper, and I hope it never ends.
I deserve it.
“They worked together,” Bradley repeats, and it’s like he’s finally understood something. “If that’s true, Zira, then no matter what, they would have used your connection for the jewelry store. Given the work that went into planning the raid on the ship, I’m not so sure Harris would have settled for sex. He had a plan.”
“All my life,” I sob. “All my life, I’ve done everything for him. I raised him, helped with his homework, fed him and clothed him, tried to get him into a good college and worked myself to the bone trying to get him the help he needed, and instead he chose Harris. He chose—” My throat closes and I choke, gripping tighter onto Bradley’s forearm. “I tried so hard to save him and I failed. I failed because he died! I killed him, oh, God.”
I’m shaking apart, tearing apart at the seams. Nothing in my life exists anymore. Peter’s gone. My apartment’s likely gone too, and my job. I had no savings. They all went to Peter. I have nothing left.
“I killed him,” I gasp. “If I’d just… stopped all this, he’d be alive. I killed him!”
“Zira,” Bradley says firmly, his gentle voice drifting down from the top of my head. “I pulled the trigger that night, not you. I shot Peter to save your life because he was trying to kill you. I killed him. Not you.”
I killed him.
Is this… Bradley’s fault?
If he hadn’t been at the jewelry store that day, then I never would have picked him to be the hostage and never would have gotten involved in whatever the hell this place is. I’d be dealing with the guilt of killing someone, but Peter would be alive and with me. Bradley wouldn’t have come to my store to scare me, wouldn’t have sent people after that second team.
Everything would be fine if… Bradley hadn’t been involved at all.
Slowly, I pull back at him and squint my raw eyes in the low light. “You,” I whisper as my brain spins a long, winding path to new logic in an attempt to stem the pain in my chest.
“You’re right. It’s all your fault. I… I hate you, you hear me? I hate you!”
27
BRADLEY
Her words of hatred are loud and strong but they lack conviction. Zira’s trying to cling to reason right now, even if it’s twisted, but I’ll let her if it helps her feel better. There’s nothing I want more than for her to feel better.
“You’re right,” I say softly, cupping her face with my damp hand and gently swiping some of her tears away. “You should hate me. And you’re allowed to grieve. He may have lied and done terrible things to you, but he’s still your brother. You raised him. You cared for him. You’re allowed to feel how you feel.”
Her face crumples and she pulls away, burying her head in her hands. Soft sobs rack her body and send ripples through the water, and my heart breaks. No wonder she considers sex to be nothing more than a transaction and her days of utter numbness barely crack the surface of the pain she’s surely in. My entire time knowing her has been filled with her determination to save her brother.
All this time, he was dead.
My heart sinks. The remains gathered from the bottom of that cliff when we cleaned up were busted beyond all recognition and I had no reason to demand confirmation of identity. This is just as much my fault, and that guilt nestles like a sharp thorn underneath my ribs. I focus on helping wash the rest of her body and hair, keeping my movements slow and tender as she wrestles with her tears and her sobs. As the water grows cool, goosebumps race up and down her arms, so I quickly lift her out of the tub and bundle her in the thickest, fluffiest towel I can find.
“Will you eat something? I can bring soup, pasta… a smoothie?”
Carrying Zira back to bed, she pushes me away when I set her down and clutches at the towel around her body. “I’m not hungry,” she says hoarsely. “Just tired.”
“You need to eat.” It’s difficult not to be stern, and it slips slightly into my tone, making her glance up at me.
“Fine. Anything.”
“Okay. There are clothes in your closet if you want to get dressed.”
She nods and her shoulders slump as she wipes her eyes. Distance is likely needed right now, so once I’m certain she’s not going to crumple apart again, I leave her room and stroll down to the kitchen. Cassian’s already inside, dancing to some soft flute music while tossing a vibrant salad in a bowl. As soon as he sees me, he quickly turns the music down.
“How is she?”
“Devastated.” I sigh deeply, dragging one hand down my face. “Everything is such a mess. That man I killed? At the cliff,you remember? It wasn’t this fucking Harris cunt. It was her brother.”
