Page 3 of Crimson Tears

Maybe she’s able to see just how much I’ve changed in the past three years since faking my own death. The once giddy boy that was full of love and adventure, turned into a ruthless assassin and serial murderer.

Three years ago, I was a different man, still a boy even. But I’m not that person anymore.

I take out my knife and flick it open to clean under my nails. My hands feel dirty after touching that revolting man only minutes ago, and I want to carve him from my flesh. I shrug before leaning against the wall by the door, successfully blocking her way out.

“I faked it to hide from your father.”

My words are emotionless, cold even. Just the thought of that man takes my mind to the worst place.

“I did the same.” Her voice stutters this time, making it clear she is afraid of me.

But that’s the thing—the woman I knew is afraid of nothing and no one. So, why is she letting herself be haunted by a ghost?

“Well then. Let’s talk about how we can kill him. Shall we?”

I step into her space, crowding her as I pocket my knife and wrap a hand around her throat. I had to live for a year thinking she was gone, and I want to know why. I want to demand answers until she’s crying and begging on her knees for my forgiveness.

The woman I knew never would have let me touch or threaten her like this. Yet, here she is, doing exactly that. Maybe the woman I loved really did die a year ago. Maybe this is some fake version of herself she pretends to be in order to hide away.

Using my hand, heavily tattooed with a dark skull, I squeeze around her neck. Her eyes flutter closed as I lean in, her sweetscent envelopes me, causing me to briefly lose all sense of reason.

I’ve mourned her and this love for a year, but here she is. In the flesh and very much alive, her skin warm and real right under the tips of my fingers.

“Harder,” she whispers, and my body obeys on command, my eyes shooting open at her words as relief floods me knowing she is still the same woman I fell in love with.

Realization hits me that I’m not scaring her, she was waiting for her opportunity, and now she has it. Pain overtakes me as she crushes my balls within an inch of their life before backing away with a smirk.

I, on the other hand, collapse to the ground breathless for so many damn reasons. Feck, I should have choked her so much harder.

She chuckles as she bends down to grab her bag and tap me on the nose. “Am I still the same girl you remember, Killer?”

“Better.” It’s the only word I can get out as I roll onto my side, clutching the jewels as if my grip alone could heal their pain.

She stands to her full height to loom over me, that crimson hair blowing in the wind, resembling the fire I know blazes inside of her. I finally regain my composure and take a deep breath. She looks like a goddess as she reaches her hand out to me, just like she did when we were kids and she saved me.

“Come on. Evie wants an update.” She pulls me to my feet and I stare at her in wonder.

“Who are you, Sweetheart?” I ask in a whisper.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before adjusting the strap of her rifle across her chest.

“I think, I’m finally me.” She shrugs, as if that wasn’t the statement of the century.

“And who is that, Nessa O’Neil?”

Her mouth opens, but before she can answer me bullets chip at the edges of the building, shooting up towards us. I dive for her and the door, closing us in the dark space together before either of us are struck.

“Who knows you’re here?” Nessa asks, her hands fisting my suit jacket before we turn and head down the stairs.

“Who knows you’re alive?” I counter.

It’s not every day that an Irish Reaper Princess fakes her death and decides to work with a girl like Evie.

“I have people who ensure my safety,” she pauses on the steps to glare back at me. “Can you say the same?”

As we reach the base of the tower, her eyes widen when she realizes the door is locked. I may or may not have done that.

Don’t worry though, I have a key.

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