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“I’ve never taken a life before . . .”
Shuddering inwardly at the revelation, I don’t let him see my reaction. Taking a life must be devastating, but this isn’t about me. I heard from Mr. Baker that Trent deals with bad men. I know this. I have no doubt, whoever it was, he deserved it.
But I’m not the one who needs to hear this.
These are his demons, and I need to comfort him.
I place my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”
And I am.
This is one hundred percent about what happened to me.
“Maybe I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger, but I’m the reason he’s dead.” His hand reaches up to squeeze mine where it’s placed on his arm.
Dried blood transfers to my skin.
“Did he deserve it?” I whisper, staring at the dark red.
“Yes.”
“Then you have nothing to regret.”
I step closer to him, taking his bloody hands in mine.
Most of it is dried.
But still, it’s there.
And even after they wash away, the stains of blood will linger.
Maybe not enough to see, but the traumas of our past never really go away.
It’s okay, though.
I see that now.
Pain makes you stronger.
“Let me help you,” I whisper, standing on my tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his cheek.
I pull him with me, and then I turn on the water to the shower.
Together, clothes on, we stand beneath the hot streams.
“You did what you had to do,” I reassure him.
“How did I become this man?” he mutters to himself, steeped in regret.
“You are a good man.”
“I cheat people out of money for a living.”
I know him well enough to know his “victims” aren’t good people. That they did something to fall onto his radar. Something bad.
Vigilante justice is still justice.
Sometimes, the underworld has its own rules. Its own jury. Its own judges.
