“Is he alive?” Bridgette asks.
“Only just,” Wesley says.
“Won’t be long now,” Ronan agrees.
Vincent grabs the letter opener, examining it with detached interest before facing us.
“Anyone care to do the honors?”
Surprising everyone in the room, Bridgette stands up, shakily moving towards them. Vincent’s eyebrows lift in intrigue as he offers the silver weapon to her. She takes it, her hand shaking. She’s already been through so much; this will no doubt just add to her trauma. But I don’t intervene, because I know a piece of her needs this.
She gets down on her knees, sitting just beside him as she speaks to him, her tone filled with so much contempt, so much venom that it sends a shock of chills running through me.
“I hope youburn.”
In the next moment, Bridgette sinks the letter opener into Harry’s neck, plunging it deeply before yanking it quickly to the right. Blood sprays like a geyser, making an audible splat sound just as Harry’s breathing stops.
Bridgette sits there, her chest heaving, hands and face covered in blood like a conquering warrior. I move across the room to her, gently resting my hand on her shoulder so she knows it’s just me. She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t look away from the mangled mess that is…or was, her father’s neck.
Wesley and Ronan share pinched looks, while Vincent just looks impressed.
“C’mon, we’ll take you back to our place.” Skyla offers to both of us.
Asher walks in with an arm full of plastic wrap, his eyes taking in the blood splatter.
“You guys couldn’t have made clean up a little easier?” he grumbles.
“Vengeance is messy business,” Vincent says, his eyes on Bridgette.
She looks up at him, nodding shakily before letting me help her stand.
“We’ll take care of things here. Go get checked out,” Ronan says to us, as he and Wesley begin lifting Harry’s body.
Liam and Skyla lead the way to their car, helping us inside before getting in the front.
“Why aren’t you staying behind, Walcott?” I ask.
He scrunches up his face. “I don’t care for blood. Kinda squeamish.”
I let out a humorless laugh at that, even if it is kinda funny. Everyone knows members of the Brethren, Legacies and Elders specifically, have to get their hands bloody from time to time, if not often. Of course, this dopey golden retriever would want nothing to do with it, though. Sky really does have one of each kind of boyfriend. Excuse me, husband.
As we drive down the road, I feel Bridgette begin to fade, her head tucked into my neck, arms wrapped around me as her body effectively shuts down and lets her rest in peace.
Chapter Forty Seven
Bridgette
I don’t remember how I got here; all I know is that I’m lying in a strange room, on a strange bed, having a strange doctor examine me. She gives me a sympathetic frown as she shakes her head.
“It looks like you have some tearing. I’m going to stitch you up, okay?”
“Alright,” I say as she gives me an anesthetic shot.
I wince for a moment before the numbness takes over. I told Maggie that she could be in here with me, but she insisted on waiting outside. She thinks I should be alone to process the fact that I just had all of my control taken from me; my choices violently stripped away. What she fails to realize is this wasn’t the first time, not by a long shot. And honestly, it wasn’t even the roughest he’s been. If I needed stitches now, I definitely needed them after my sixteenth birthday party.
When the doctor is finished, she writes me some prescriptions and tells me she is going to store the evidence. I don’t bother telling her it’s a waste. That my abuser will never face punishment because he’s dead. I killed him, with the help of my girlfriend, that is. The idea of it still hasn’t fully sunk in yet. He’s gone. Officially. Finally. I’m…we’re all free.
As soon as the doctor leaves, Maggie peeks her head in.