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With a heavy sigh, I lower the gun.
Instead, I fish Beast’s knife from his pocket and cut through the zip ties that keep him in that chair. Then I peel away the gloves Lex made me wear and chuck them in front of my father’s feet. “I am beautiful,” I say as I stare straight into his soul. “Despite everything you said and did to try to make me a monster like you.”
He doesn’t say a word.
“And I don’teverwant to see you again, or I swear to God Iwillpull that trigger.”
My father swallows.
Then I grab Beast’s hand and walk. “Let’s go.”
“You didn’t … kill him,” he mutters. “You’ve got far more control than I do.”
“Don’t tempt me to go back,” I say, tugging him along even though he walks slowly as though he can’t believe I’m willing to let my father walk.
But I am not like my father.
I don’t kill for money.
I don’t kill for fun.
I don’t kill for revenge.
I kill to protect.
And no one needs protecting from a squeaky, little, insignificant, powerless mouse.
Beast pauses, forcing me to stop, too, even though we’re almost out the door. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t want to be a murderer,” I reply. “That’s not who I am.”
Beast brings his hand to my face, caressing me softly, reminding me of where I belong. “No … you were always better than him.”
I smile.
Until my father laughs erratically. “Oh, I knew you wouldn’t do it. That Beast puts thoughts in your head that don’t belong there.”
I try to ignore him. I really do.
Until he suddenly flies headfirst into one of the guards lying on the floor and grasps the gun in the man’s hands … then aims it at Beast.
“You tookeverythingfrom me!” he shrieks as Beast turns to look at him, unarmed.
I turn and shoot.
BANG!
The bullet enters my father’s skull right between his eyes.
“No,” I reply as he sinks down onto the floor, blood oozing from his head. “You did.”
I march over to him to look into his eyes as his soul slowly begins to leave his body. “I hope you rot in hell.”
When he breathes his last breath, I sigh along with him and let every bit of anxiety evaporate like snow before the sun.
“Damn girl,” Luca says as he leans against the windowsill while his mother makes some calls to whatever people she knows to clean up the house. Or whatever is left of it. “I’m impressed.”
I thought I’d be remorseful. Guilty. Sad. Upset.
