Page 83 of Dead to Me

I looked down at my bloody maid-of-honor dress, then at China's ruined wedding gown.

For the first time since I came home, I knew exactly how this had to end.

I touched my sister’s cheek.

“Remember when you stole my face?”

China stared back at me with lifeless eyes.

I smiled.

“I think I want it back.”

I stood up and walked to the mirror.

Blood covered my cheek.

My hair had come loose. I came to this hotel planning to kill three people, and I did. Now I needed to kill one more.

Milan Hart.

I smiled at my reflection in the mirror and reached for Mama’s necklace. China had taken my freedom, and I could never get those years back. I finally understood that. But I could take the years she had left. I unclasped the necklace from her neck and put it on myself.

Then I looked into the mirror again.

China stared back at me. I grinned, thinking about what I was about to do next.

For the first time all day, my smile was real.

“Hello, sister.”

Milan

The first thing I did was cry. It wasn’t because China was dead. It wasn’t because Malcolm was dead. It wasn’t because Warren was dead. I cried because that’s what China would’ve done. That was the difference between surviving and getting caught.

Milan Hart could leave that suite covered in blood and stay quiet. China Hart couldn’t do that. China would scream. She would shake. She would fall apart in front of anyone watching.

I sat on the floor next to my sister and forced myself to act like her. The tears came more easily than I thought they would.

Maybe I was carrying more grief than I knew. I cried for Mama. I cried for the years I’d lost. I cried for the woman I was before Malcolm decided his life was more important than mine. I cried for the sister China used to be.

When I was done, my face was swollen and wet. That was perfect.

I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror, still wearing the bloody wedding dress.

My hair was a mess. My lip was split. I had a cut across my forearm.

I looked like someone who had survived something awful. That was exactly what I needed. I glanced back at China, now in my dress, soaked in blood. Her eyes were still open.

I walked over and closed her eyes.

I heard voices in the hallway. Someone shouted that the eighth floor was clear. My pulse sped up. I was out of time. I stepped away from China. The door handle turned. Someone knocked.

“Police.”

I stared at the door.

“Ma’am, open the door.”