Page 66 of House of Soot

The question hangs in the air. My hand presses against my stomach, wondering if telling him about our baby would change anything. Would it matter to him? Or would it just be another weapon he could use to hurt me?

Blaise's eyes flick to me briefly before returning to Ronan. "No. I'm not going to kill you. I already did what I set out to do with you. Breaking your heart was enough."

The casual way he dismisses me hurts me as much as any physical blow. In this moment, I realize he never saw me as anything more than a tool for his revenge. Not when he kissed me in the garden. Not when he made love to me in the woods. Not even when he helped save my mother's life.

“And then there is the bonus of showing Ronan here how easily his loyal little gardener could be turned against him."

“You fucking bitch,” Ronan’s hand swings out, catching me in the face, knocking me so hard that I stumble and fall to the ground. At that moment, I almost wish Blaise would kill me.

26

BLAISE

The sharp crack of Ronan's hand against Jenna's face echoes through the wine cellar. She crumples to the ground, her palm pressed against her reddening cheek. Blood trickles from the corner of her mouth.

My finger tightens on the trigger. Every muscle in my body coils, ready to spring. How dare he touch her. But then I remember her betrayal. I think about how she’s still trying to protect him when she should be apologizing to me.

“I should have set the cottage on fire too.”

Jenna stays curled on the floor, shoulders shaking. The sight of her tears tries to work into my sympathy, but I fight it. I’ve worked hard for this moment. I need to revel in it.

"I didn't know," she whispers. "I was just a child. I thought?—”

"You thought what?" Ronan's voice drips with contempt. "That I actually cared about you? That anyone would?"

The gun wavers between them as conflicting impulses war inside me. Protect her. Hurt her. Save her. Destroy her.

She looks up at me, those green eyes swimming with tears, and for a moment I see the innocence there, the genuine shockand horror as the truth crashes down around her. Maybe she really didn't know what she was doing ten years ago.

But then I remember my mother's screams. My father's body. The inferno that stole everything from us. All because this girl wanted a boy to notice her.

The rage wins out, turning my heart to stone. I steady the gun, aiming at Ronan's chest. Let her watch someone else she cares about die. It's only fair.

“You don't understand." Her eyes plead with me. "They've been good to us. My mother would have died without their support?—”

"And my parents are already dead because of your loyalty to them!" The fury explodes out of me, making her flinch. "Even now, knowing what they did, you're still defending them." I walk over to her, seething with rage. “And let me remind you of who made sure your mother got a new heart. It wasn’t this motherfucker. And who took her to the hospital because the Keans whom you so adore threatened to fire you if you did? It was me, Jenna. And after all that, you still choose them.”

The rage burns hotter, threatening to consume me. After everything, the dates, the kisses, the intimacy we shared, she's still theirs.

“Why would I choose you when it wasn’t real?”

Except it was real and it’s killing me. Fuck.

The movement catches my peripheral vision, and in the split second of my distraction, Ronan bolts.

"No!" I swing the gun back toward his retreating figure, squeezing off a shot. The bullet strikes stone, sending fragments flying.

I fire again. Miss. The sound of his footsteps echoes up the stairs as he disappears back up to the house.

"Damn it!" Ten years of planning, destroyed in seconds because I let myself get distracted by her.

I turn back to Jenna. She's still on the floor, eyes wide with terror. Good. She should be afraid. I want her to feel a fraction of what my family felt that night.

Except looking at her tear-streaked face, my chest aches. The urge to comfort her wars with my need for vengeance. I hate that she has this power over me. That even knowing what she did, part of me wants to protect her.

I go to her. "Are you hurt? Let me see?—”

She slaps my hand away and scrambles away, using the wall to help her stand. "Don't touch me. I can’t believe you used me. That everything between us was a lie."

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