Page 186 of Silenced

Things have a habit of doing that around me.

“Cassie!” When Rundel spies her through bruised and blackened eyes, he starts sobbing with relief. “Cassie, help me!” He shoots me a desperate look. “You have to make them listen!”

She freezes at his demand, hunches in on herself beneath my arm.

It will never stop devastating me seeing her do this—reacting like prey. The predator in me should respond to her weakness, but it doesn’t.

Because it recognizes its mate?

Perhaps.

I can feel her quiver. Her fear is a visceral thing tainting the air.

My temper surges.

Not at her,forher.

This bastard reduced her to this. Never again.

“Why should I do anything to help you?”

That she’s found her voice is reassuring. Mirroring her earlier actions, I squeeze her shoulder in both comfort and support. I want her to know she’s not alone anymore. She has me.

Always.

“Cassie, for God’s sake. You have to! The Russians—”

“You made me a target for the Albanians!” she snarls, her soft tenor suddenly being replaced with vitriol. Only, a second later, she’s back to being quietly spoken. “You’re here because of me, Harvey. Why would I help you when Nikolai brought you to me?”

“You bitch! How could you do this?” he screeches.

“Months in a psychiatric ward, only fuck knows how many nights spent in the hospital because ofyou, and you ask me howIcan do this toyou? The answer, Harvey, is easily.

“I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad because I can say goodbye to you. I’m glad because I can watch you die and know that you can’t hurt me anymore, and do you know what?” She sucks in a breath. “That feels really good. No more running like a frightened mouse. No more staying in shitty motels to escape you and diving from job to job to make ends meet. No more poverty.

“No more avoiding my family, no more being alienated from everyone who matters to me.

“I wanted to be a journalist, Harvey. I wanted to write the news, and instead, you drew me away from everything that mattered to me. Even then, you resented it. You resented that I brought in more money than you, and instead of being grateful, you made me pay for it.

“Well, it’s your turn to pay, Harvey. It’s your turn to suffer, and I want you to know that it’s happening because of me. Because someone better than you loves me enough to let me have this moment.”

“No one could ever love you, you fat cow,” Rundel snarls, but that’s as far as he gets.

Surging forward, ignoring the rattle of bones that have been shaken after the day’s events, I kick his chair so that he falls flat on his back. As he splutters in reaction, Boris passes me something.

Staring down at the baggy in my hand, I peer at him in question and he answers, “RED.”

My eyes flare wide, then I shake my head.

Two pills.

Harvey Rundel hasn’t changed.

Still seeking an erection.

But these little red pills crafted by the Sicilians in New York are a lot different than the blue ones…

Delighted by the prospect of making his death more miserable, I empty the baggy into my palm.

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