Page 2 of Final Vendetta

Not anymore.

Still, Imogene deserved to know how I felt about her. How I’dalwaysfeel about her, no matter the path I chose.

Me:

My love for you is and always will be unconditional.

I hit send, then returned my attention to the TV as James’ vehicle approached Wilshire Boulevard at a high rate of speed without a single care for the fact that he had a red light.

“Fuck,” I exhaled when I noticed another dark SUV sitting at the light that just turned green. I could only pray the driver heard the helicopter or sirens and stayed put.

But they didn’t.

The scene played out in slow motion as James’ SUV sped ahead at the same time as the other car moved forward.

“Faster, faster,” I hissed, unsure which car I was talking to.

I couldn’t stomach the idea of an innocent person getting hurt. It was only supposed to be James. No one else.

But as my eyes remained glued to the television, a sinking feeling formed in my gut that I wouldn’t get my wish, which was confirmed when James’ car slammed into the passenger side of the SUV, the speed at which he hit it causing it to spin out of control until coming to a stop several yards away.

Heaviness weighed on my chest as the news continued to broadcast a live feed of the aftermath, but I barely heard a word they said, my guilt drowning out everything else.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. James was supposed to feel helpless as he lost everything. A cop was supposed to go to his house and arrest him. The media was supposed to repeatedly show footage of him being led into the police station in handcuffs.

He wasn’t supposed to make a run for it.

And he certainly wasn’t supposed to go on a high-speed chase through Santa Monica in his intoxicated state before slamming into another car, turning it into nothing but a pile of metal and broken glass.

I tried to convince myself I wasn’t to blame. That James made the choice to run from the police. Still, I couldn’t ignore the nagging voice telling me I was the one who set these wheels in motion. That my obsession with revenge now caused an innocent person to get hurt. Or worse.

It was one thing to take the lives of the men who plotted my demise.

But this?

I wasn’t sure if I’d ever forgive myself for this.

“Can you… Can you find out who owns that car?” I asked Henry, pushing down the bile rising in my throat.

“It might take a bit. I don’t have anything to go on. Let me see if I can get a closeup of the plate.”

“Thanks.” I looked back at the screen, police and firefighters swarming the scene to deliver aid.

I feared it would be too late.

“Oh god…” Henry quivered, the color draining from his face as he shifted his gaze toward me.

“What is it?”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at me with parted lips, his normally easy-going demeanor nowhere to be found.

“Whose car is it, Henry?” I demanded, panic overtaking me the longer I looked at the pity in his eyes.

The room grew thick with tension, the sound of my racing heart echoing in my ears.

In my life, there had been several moments that stood out. That I’d always remember. Seeing Liam point a gun at me. Killing a man for the first time. Finally escaping the prison I’d been in for years.

But this moment would always shine brighter than all the rest.

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