Page 47 of The Wrong Drive

“Very interesting,” she remarks, confusion filling her face. “Though, I suppose one could argue they were in the wrong for trespassing.”

“Maybe. It wasn’t until you, that I…” My voice trails off as I gather my wits. “That I felt something again. Now, you know what I am.”

“And what are you, really?” her question comes out in a whisper as the fingers of her free hand trace my cheek, grazing the trail of moisture.

“A psychopath,” I answer her, feeling myself harden. “That’s what I am.”

Emersyn falls into silence, sniffling as fresh tears slip down her cheeks. I take in the sight of her, her still-damp hair spilling over her shoulders, her eyes red from the tears, and my chainaround her neck. She stiffens as I reach up and tug the small heart out from under her sweater.

“Guess you found it.” I run my finger over theE.“Kind of elementary.”

Her hand comes to mine, brushing over it softly, while the barrel still digs into my temple. Maybe sheisin control, because I have never wanted to be a good man so badly—and I’d do absolutely anything the woman told me to.

“It’s the best Christmas gift I’ve gotten in years,” she says, holding my gaze. “I think it’s beautiful.”

“I always wanted to find a girl to wear my chain,” another piece of my past spills from my lips. “It’s that stupid?” I look up at her. “I wanted the whole thing—the white picket fence, the wife, and the kids. Can you imagine me, a fucking nutcase, with kids? Guaranteed that they’d end up troubled and fucked in the head.”

She smiles, squeezing my hand. “What a beautiful life you could have had.”

“Yeah, I know,” I laugh. “Isn’t that crazy? I thought I was a hero once, Em. I thought I was Superman, coming to save the day every time I went on a mission. By the time I made it home, I was already turning into a villain—and then I realized I’ve always been the villain in someone else’s story. I couldn’t find peace unless I was causing violence.”

She nods in understanding, and my body relaxes underneath her. It’s like a therapy session, only with a beautiful, compassionate woman sitting on my lap. Never mind the gun to my head. We fall into silence, and I wait, wait for her to say something else. But she doesn’t.

It must be time. She’s heard enough.

I turn my head to Gunner, sitting there, no longer panting with panic or worry. He no longer appears concerned, and for some reason that brings a deeper sense of peace in addition tothe rest. It’sfinallyover. No more nights with pills. No more spilling blood. No more pain.

I turn my head back to Em, who’s got a whole river of tears rolling down her cheeks. “You don’t have to do it, baby,” my voice sounds so gentle, so sweet, reaching a level of empathy I haven’t felt in years.

“Final words,” she demands.

I shake my head. “I’d never give you that burden. Just know thatifI somehow avoid going to hell, I’ll keep an eye on you, Em—and if I get that kind of grace, I’ll see you on the other side.” My hand lands on hers, my index finger sliding over the trigger. “Let me do it. Close your eyes.”

She swallows audibly, Gunner lets out a pained bay, echoing in the emptiness of silence.

And thenshepulls the trigger.

Chapter 22

Emersyn

I know what I did.But he deserved it.

As his eyes flicker open at the gunshot right behind his head, I throw the weapon to the floor, metal skidding against concrete the only sound between us.

His eyes narrow. “You missed.”

“No, I didn’t,” I answer him. “I did exactly what I should have. You’re not dying.” I fist his collar with newfound anger, and then lean down, brushing my nose to his. “You’re getting fuckinghelp.”

“The hell I am,” He growls back at me. “I wantpeace,Emersyn.”

I shake my head, swinging my leg off him and standing to my feet. “Then you’ll have to kill me, Turner, but even then, I’ll fucking haunt you.”

Turner glares at me. “I thought you understood me, butclearlyyou don’t.” He rises, towering over me. “You think that I’ll just magically be fixed, huh?” His hand shoots out, wrapping around my arm and dragging me toward him.

I wrap my hands around his, trying to pry his fingers from around me. “Idon’tthink that. I just want you to stay?—”

“You’re fuckingselfish,” he roars at me, dropping his hand. Turner spins around and in one swift kick sends the chair flying across the barn as I stumble and fall hard onto the concrete. I swallow the pain shooting up my spine as I watch him sweep up the pistol from the floor, pointing it at me.

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