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“What…what do you want from me?” He stares at me, then at my men, looking like he’s ready to piss his pants. “I didn’t do anything.”
I step in front of him, retrieving my gun with the silencer attached to it. “Yes, you did, Ryan. I should’ve killed you that night at the club. A mistake I will not repeat again.”
“No, please… I…I kept my distance… ”
“Then you decided not to catch her at the last second.”
His eyes widen.
“Did you think I wouldn’t know? I saw the sadism in your eyes when you decided you wouldn’t catch her.”
“No… Everyone witnessed it… She jumped a second too early.”
“You could’ve caught her. You just chose not to.” I point the gun at him. “That’s your final fucking strike.”
“No, please, please…”
“We’ll start with the legs, then I’ll make you beg to be killed. Only after you’ve paid for every tear she’s shed will you be allowed the mercy of death.”
I shoot him in the tibia, right where her leg broke.
Ryan shrieks like a toddler as blood explodes from his wound. As he falls to his knees, I shoot his thigh.
He wails, his ugly voice bouncing off the buildings and fueling my need to inflict more pain. Pain greater than what Lia will be going through.
This is going to be a long night.
When I’m done with this scum, he’ll disappear as if he never existed.
Just like her career.
This is my form of fucking justice.
24
Lia
Ispend the next two weeks at home, recovering.
Or more accurately, trying to survive my mind.
Every day, I wake from a nightmare replaying the moment I fell, the exact moment the haunting sound of my leg breaking echoing in the air.
And every time, soothing hands wrap around me, pulling me close to a strong chest. A chest that I’ve grown so used to along with the compassion that comes with it.
A compassion I never believed Adrian to be capable of.
He didn’t leave my side during the first couple of days, but then he had to go back to his work. I don’t want to think about the fact that he’s going back to torture and kill people, that after caring for me, he went back to destruction.
But it’s not like I could stop him. Adrian made it clear that he enjoys what he does, and there’s nothing I can do or say that will change his mind.
Not having him around is hard. It’s even harder than I would like to admit.
Since I took Adrian’s hand and cried into his chest, something between us changed. The bridge I thought was ruined has been slowly building since that day. It might have something to do with his attentiveness or silent support, but he’s become a pillar in my life. He distracts me from my head and every vile emotion that comes with it.
But when he’s gone, all those emotions barge back in.
The walls close in on me as if intending to trap me in the confines of the dark box from my childhood. I keep stealing peeks at my ballet clothes, at the shoes and the leotards, and try not to break down all over again.
