Page 48 of Painter's Obsession: Volume II

Ren hurls the bag of money, and all I see is the bag moving across the air as Ren moves in— a blur of precision, violence waiting to snap.

The gun falls to the side, catching Gabriela in the eye. Her head jerks, but she doesn’t cry out—just gasps, a muffled sound against the gag. I don’t have a chance to register my movements, but my body actson instinct. My arms wrap around my sister just as I see Kevin pull a knife from behind his back.

I take a deep breath in. Closing her into me, I flip us around, my back connecting with the knife. The sharp end pierces my skin, tearing through the muscle. The world goes quiet. The knife slides into me like it belongs there—like I was always meant to die this way.

I thought I’d be brave. I thought I’d be ready. But the pain makes a liar out of me. It feels like fire and ice. I feel the cold twist inside me, causing me to scream out in pain. Gabriela chokes on her screams, and I hear the sudden, sickening sound of Ren’s wrath.

I hear the sound of a rock connecting with bone. Over and over. The sound of bone and rage and finality. Kevin doesn’t get a chance to pull the knife from my side. His hand loosens its grip mid-twist, and I can finally breathe again.

The smell of home, of cinnamon and roses—my sister.. I pull her back to look at her, almost collapsing into her as I hear the wet sounds of Kevin’s skull being bashed in. Each impact lands with a sick rhythm—meatand stone, hate and love. The sounds of wet flesh and Ren’s grunts fill the air as I remove the gag from my sister’s mouth.

“Byron,” she breathes, her lips quivering before she’s sobbing again. “Oh, Byron.”

I hug her. “You’re okay?”

She sobs harder, her shoulder moving with each violent sob, her tears soaking my shirt.

Her breath is shaky, and warm against my chest. I don’t know how much time I have.

If this is what it takes for her to live—then let me bleed. Because what comes next… doesn’t matter.

She’s safe.

The woods spin around me. I’m so caught up in the moment checking on my sister—that I don’t even register the second he’s behind her. My hand moves too slow.

“No,” I shout. “Ren, stop”

Everything slows. “Why?”

I see the rock arc through the air like it’s been waiting. I hear the dull crack before she slumps into me limp, warm, and still.

Cradling her head, I feel her blood before I see it. It spills between my fingers. Hot. Familiar. Terrifying.

My ears ring. My chest tightens. My throat locks. I can’t speak. Can’t think. Onlyfeel.Her blood on my hands. Her weight in my arms. Her silence screaming through me.

I look down at her face. Eyes fluttering. Lips parted.

Then—a breath.

Soft. Shaky. Warm against my chest.

She’s breathing.

And for the first time in forever—so am I.

My eyes rise.

Ren stands there, blood across his face, red tangled in his strands of onyx. Unblinking. Calm. As if what he’s done was sacred.

“Why?” I whisper. But the answer is clear now, and it hurts more than the blood still pooling beneath me. Shakingly, I collapse with my sister in my arms, cradlingher head, shielding her, and grieving her. Making him believe he won to spare her. I sob as I kiss her forehead, the sound of sirens closing in catches my attention, growing louder with every breath. Salty tears roll down my nose onto my lips, bitter and warm.

“I love you so much, pendeja,” I whisper into her hair before I cradle her firmly, close to me, pressing her into my chest like I can keep her there forever. Before laying her on the ground, I lean over her, placing one final kiss like a blessing and a goodbye. “Live, kid. For the both of us.”

Before turning my attention to Ren, sobbing, I try to find the strength to stand. We are so close to the edge, but I can’t even stand. My legs tremble, my vision spins. “Ren.” I call to him like a god, desperate and delirious, as I crawl pathetically to where he stands; knife still stuck inside me, bleeding, weeping, and broken.

“Ren.” Finally, my God listens, falling to his knees. I see his tears mixing with the blood.

“It has to be this way, we need to leave,” he repeats over and over, like it’s a mantra he’s trying tobelieve. As he helps me to my knees, cupping the back of his neck, I press our foreheads together. The warmth of him floods into me like I’ve finally made it home.

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