Page 128 of A Vow So Soulless

Only to have my entire world implode at the sight of my wife on her fucking knees, shaking, her dress torn, her hands on another man’s thighs.

I assumed I’d keep Brigham alive long enough that Curse could get a crack at him, Interrogate him a little. Torture him a lot.

But when I see him with his disgusting fucking fingers buried in the flames of her hair my hand rises like it’s been drawn by a string. Every nerve in my body blazes, every ounce of sensation pouring into my hand as I pull the fucking trigger.

Someone screams, but it’s not Deirdre. For the first time I notice the other two in the room. A young woman with long brown hair.

And seated right next to her?

O’Malley.

Holy fuck. That bastard was sitting right fucking there. Didn’t lift a finger to help his daughter.

Don’t know why I expected any better.

I would go right to him, nail him to the fucking wall, if Deirdre’s movements hadn’t regained my attention. Her hands fly from the legs of the corpse, and she falls backwards onto her ass in her haste to get away from him.

“Songbird.”

She tenses, then turns, and then I know I’m going to blow this fucking world apart, because somebody’s fucking hit her. I sweep into the room with long, vicious strides, coming to crouch beside her. I tenderly cup her face, checking her head and scalp for injuries, but so far all I see is a very red cheek and a busted lip.

There’s a sudden choke of relief in my throat. She’s bleeding, but she’s in one piece. My gaze flashes to Brigham, dead and slouching in his chair, and my mind goes white with fucking fury. If I had gotten here one minute fucking later…

But he’s dead now, and he ain’t getting any deader. I focus on my Songbird once more, running my hands down her shuddering shoulders until I reach her hands.

Her bleeding hands.

I hiss out a curse.

“Who,” I ask, feeling like my heart is trying to batter its way out of my body, “did this to you?”

“I… I fell.”

“And what about this?” I prod ever so gently at her bloodied lip. Tears spill from her eyes, and she points miserably over her shoulder, as if she can’t stand to look at him again.

I already said that he ain’t getting any deader.

Fuck that. He deserves a few more fucking holes.

I stand and aim my gun, letting off a volley of shots into the white-clad corpse. I bust open his belly, his chest, even fire off a few at the wilting shape of his foul fucking dick.

I hear another feminine scream, and turn just in time to see the woman – who I now realize is O’Malley’s girlfriend, Bridget – sprint from the room. O’Malley, fucking prize that he is, tries to follow her.

“Not another fucking step, O’Malley.”

He freezes, and I can see the way his shoulders are creeping up around his ears.

“Turn the fuck around,” I tell him.

He doesn’t. He’s too afraid.

And that makes me so fucking angry that I cross to him in strides I don’t even feel myself taking. I smash my pistol down against his shoulder, forcing him down to his knees. As he howls with pain and clutches his shoulder, I step around in front of him, standing between him and the door.

I stare down at him, gun cocked, and suddenly I’m not looking at O’Malley anymore but my own sack of shit papà. He was on his knees just like this at the end. He apologized over and over. Begged me for forgiveness.

O’Malley doesn’t even manage that.

Instead, he throws Deirdre in my face, because she’s always been his fucking shield and never the daughter he protects.

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