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Her body stops jolting and the gurgles turn to silence. She’s dead. I’m a killer.
“Oakley,” Dalton grunts, demanding my attention, but my body shakes so violently, I can barely focus on his face.
I’m a killer.
Zade curses and gets to his feet. His hands are covered in Sarah’s blood, yet he doesn’t even seem to notice as he paces the length of the dining table. “FUCK,” he roars, shoving his hands against Easton’s chest as he stops in front of him. “I fucking knew this wasn’t a good idea, but you fuckers insisted I was overreacting, and now look. We invited this bitch right in here, and now she’s dead on my floor, and we’re no closer to figuring out who’s behind this.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How could something as innocent as getting my hair done turn into something like this?
Dalton shakes my shoulders, and I’m finally able to focus on his face and hear his words. “Fuck, Firefly,” he rumbles. “Did she say anything? Who is she?”
I shake my head. “Thirty minutes,” I mutter. “She said my hair would be processed in thirty minutes.”
“Shit,” Sawyer says. “She’s in shock.”
Easton says something under his breath before striding toward me and crouching down, his hand dropping to my shoulder. “Are you good, Pretty?”
“I . . . I, umm . . . my hair is burning. The bleach, it’s . . .”
“Fuck,” he grumbles, glancing at Zade as he tries to figure out a game plan before turning his stare back on Dalton. “Put her in the shower and get that shit out of her hair while we clean this up. We’ll regroup after that and try to figure out what the fuck just happened.”
Dalton nods, and without a moment of hesitation, he scoops me up off the floor and carries me to his private bathroom. He deposits me on the edge of the vanity before pulling his old, worn shirt over my head and reaching around me to unclasp my bra. “You’re going to be okay,” he offers, seeing the torment in my eyes.
I shake my head. “I killed her.”
“It’s a game of survival, Firefly. You did the right thing. It was kill or be killed.”
Deep down, I know he’s right, but that doesn’t take away from the fact I just took someone’s life.
Dalton puts me through a shower, scrubbing the bleach from my hair as I barely manage to stand. Ten minutes later, I’m standing in the living room, staring at the spot where Sarah’s body used to be.
My hair is soaking wet, dripping down my body as I wear nothing but one of Dalton’s clean shirts. There’s still blood marking the floor, bleach and toner strewn across the room, and my phone half hidden under the table, still unnoticed by the guys.
I swallow hard as I stride forward and try to help put the room back together, collecting the toner she would have used on me had she not ended up dead on the dining room floor. Discreetly scooping the phone up from the ground, I put it with a few of the things I’ll need to finish my hair later before grabbing the cleaning products and scrubbing blood from the floor. Tears linger in my eyes, falling to the floor as I work.
The cold, hard truth resides in my chest and darkens my soul. I’m a killer—a brutal, stone-cold killer. And in this very moment, I come to terms with my fate. For the first time, I truly believe that when Zade tears my heart from my chest, I will deserve nothing less.
Chapter 19
OAKLEY
It’s been twenty-four long hours since my hair appointment, and I’ve barely moved off the couch, not able to come to terms with what I’ve done. I don’t know how the boys do it. They’re so casual about taking a life, and yet here I am, barely able to function.
It pisses me off. I’ve wasted precious time, stuck in the torment of my own mind rather than trying to push it aside and figuring out a way to save myself and my father.
“Come on,” Zade says from across the penthouse. “We’re leaving.”
My head snaps up to notice the four boys hovering in the kitchen, weapons spread out over the counter. My brows furrow as I take it all in. Each of them are packing, weapons loaded over every available space on their body. They don’t even try to conceal them. “Where are we going?” I question, my heart heavy as I rise from the couch.
“There’s a meeting tonight,” Zade explains. “I’m expected to attend, and I figured, why waste a good opportunity.”
There’s a strange tone in his voice, and as I hold his dark stare, understanding dawns. “You’re going to use me as bait to lure out the attackers.”
“Damn straight,” he says before glancing at the time on his phone. “That gives you about thirty seconds to get dressed and ready, otherwise you’re going in that.”
