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“You’re a fucking coward, Toussaint. Instead of confronting me like a man, you try to get me locked up for Armel’s murder,” I growled. “You go on vigilante crusades and send me pictures of my wife with taunting messages.”
I sliced his skin and he let out a spine-chilling shriek that only heightened my glee. I carved him like you would a turkey on Thanksgiving. My artwork was a horizontal line slashed from one nipple to the other and a vertical line down his belly.
A stunning crimson cross.
Antoine barely registered my words, screaming from the pain. “You took everything from me! I loved Violette and you killed her,” he sobbed. “She was at that party, on that rooftop, because of you! You broke her heart! Youkilledher, Zeno—You!”
His accusations swayed my moral compass the tiniest bit. I felt responsible for Violette’s death and it was something that hadn’t settled well with my soul. Hearing Antoine say it aloud only reinforced what I already knew: I needed to expunge his demon from my life.
I shoved the end of my gun into his mouth. “And you tried to burn alive innocent children by setting that school on fire. You tried to killmywife. So an eye for an eye, Pierrot.”
His eyes held a glassy, faraway look, as though he’d already left this realm.
As though he barely paid attention to what I said.
I removed my gun to give Antoine the chance to say his final words.
“Pierrot,” he whispered, half alive, half dead. “That’s all I ever was to you. A clown. You hated me from the start, while I did nothing to you.”
A lone tear leaked from his right eye.
Antoine Toussaint was scarily calm. Passive. Defeated. I never knew him to be a quitter. He may be a fucking idiot, but he was an idiot who always fought till the very end.
I beat him to a bloody pulp, but now felt no satisfaction torturing a man down—A man who’d already started self-destructing when he lost his love.
However, Antoine broke his oath and for that, he needed to be punished.
“You did do something to me,” I said somberly, standing up and coming to the end of the bed. “You tried hurting my wife, Toussaint. That’s something I will never condone.”
“I’ve seen pictures of her. She looks like your type. Rich. Spoiled…” he replied incoherently, taunting me one last time, “I bet she fucks like—”
I raised my gun and fired three shots straight into his skull.
Blood seeped out of his head and stained the white pillows.
The expression on his face was vacant and almost…peaceful.
Spread-eagle, he looked like a martyr.
The rage sizzling in my veins lowered to a simmer. “See you in hell, Antoine.”
“I expected him to put up more of a fight,” Ben remarked.
“I did too.” I shot the joker cards on his cadaver. “Light him up.”
My brother poured gasoline all over the bed.
Love was a cruel obsession.
It made you do bad things.
Antoine’s love for Violette drove him to insanity. He was so desperate to avenge her death that he went to such far lengths—hurting those who had no skin in the game—just to toy with me.
“You know what’s funny, Ben? It’s almost like he wanted me to kill him.”
“So he could join Violette.” Ben crossed his arms over his chest and we both stared at Antoine’s dead body. “It baffles me that this is the route Antoine chose. We were supposed to be family. Even after two decades, it feels like we barely knew the Toussaints.”
“Time means nothing.” Knowing someone for twenty years doesn’t guarantee loyalty.
