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I glance down at her bloodied stomach and I finger the wound right in the center, stretching it wide as she screams in agony. Then all too soon, I push the grenade down inside the stab wound, watching as her eyes roll to the back of her head in agony. “And this,” I tell her, tearing the cap off the grenade. “Is for me.”
King doesn’t allow me the chance to stay back and watch the show as he grabs me under my arms and yanks me back. The boys turn and run and as my feet hit the ground and I finally start to move, the explosion rocks through the apartment and I’m thrown to the ground, King’s heavy body slamming down on top of me.
His arms circle over my head as the shock blasts through the apartment, shattering every last window and sending strips of flesh flying through the room.
The BOOM echoes through my head over and over again as I blink, trying to focus my eyes. I peer through the gap below King’s arm to look back at Paris but my view is blocked as something drops to the ground beside us.
King’s body shuffles around on top of me, and before I know what’s happening, his hands are at my arms, pulling me to my feet and gripping me tight. “WINTER. COME ON. WE HAVE TO GO.”
I blink a few more times, but as reality grips me, I see the flames quickly spreading through the apartment, and understanding dawns. We have to get the fuck out of here and we have to do it now.
I go to take off after the boys, but the object at my feet catches my attention and a wicked grin cuts across my face. Knowing there’s not a moment to spare, I scoop up the bloodied and broken hand and laugh as I race out of the apartment right on King’s heels.
We barge out through the small stairwell and out onto the thirty-fourth floor. The cart is abandoned as we fly through the fire escape, and as we bound down the stairs, no one asks me about the hand and I don’t bother offering up an explanation. All I know is those pretty rings that don her fingers are going to be the best kind of souvenirs. Besides, I’d bet everything I have that they’re probably my mothers.
Granted, a hand isn’t nearly as good as a head, but it’ll do. I could have it put into a jar and shoved up on the mantelpiece above my fireplace like a damn trophy to serve as a constant reminder that nobody will hold me down. Besides, I’m sure I could find a million and one ways to fuck with the boys using it.
My legs ache by the time we hit the bottom but we don’t dare stop until our asses are crashing down into the Escalade.
Carver fires up the engine and he carefully pulls out of the underground parking garage, going slow and making a show of looking up at the smoking apartment just as all the other people who stand out in the street are doing.
Carver navigates through the crowd, and just as he’s able to really hit the gas, the cops come screeching in the opposite direction, flying straight past us and spilling out into the crowd to figure out what the fuck just went down.
And just like that, I relax back into my seat with King’s hand still in mine, knowing that from here on out, I’m finally free. My parents have been avenged and the sweetest revenge has been taken for the boys and their siblings. Paris Moustaff is finally dead, and we will never have to fear her reign of terror again.
CHAPTER 38
Champagne flows as the people of Dynasty celebrate their freedom, cheers, laughs, and joy spreading far and wide through our incredible community.
Ravenwood Estate has been set up perfectly, and I have no one but Dianna Danforth to thank for it. Hell, I think I’m going to make her the official Dynasty event coordinator. She’s just that good, and even more, she truly loves organizing this shit, and it shows by how incredibly well she’s been able to put it together.
We’d barely gotten back in Carver’s Escalade when Cruz’s phone started screeching through the car with his mother demanding to know that we were all alright. Cruz had told her the great news and by the time the Escalade was rolling through the gates of Ravenwood Estate, the plans were already in motion.
It’s crazy to think that it was only less than three hours ago that I was ending Paris Moustaff for good, and now, I’m at a fucking street party with hundreds, if not thousands, of our Dynasty members flooding the road.
The street glistens with the canopy of fairy lights draped overhead, a stark contrast to the night sky peeping through the glittering strands. Layers of party decorations surround the mob of people, all of them dressed in their best suits and gowns for our last-minute celebration. Dianna offered the caterers five times their regular paychecks to ditch their plans and cater for us, and after one call to a gossipy wife, everything fell into place.
