Page 88 of We Are the Match
Then he holds it, hilt out, toward Milos. “Your brother’s loyalty was brought into question,” my father says. “I do not tolerate disloyalty in any form. He has done his part. So pay your debt, Milos Vasieleiou. And buy your brother’s safety.”
The words hit Paris before they register in my own mind, because she begins to struggle against the guards that are holding her until they shove her to her knees beside Tommy.
“No,” I say numbly.
Milos does not look at me. Does not meet my eyes. Not even once.
I do not plead with him. I do not plead with my father. I know better than to ask for mercy, so instead it is Tommy I turn to, and for the first time in my life, I do not look away.
“It will be okay,” I say to him. “Promise.”
Even now, even here, the word comes out a question.
Promise?
Tommy is calm and still, his breathing even. Unafraid as he has always been. He meets my gaze and opens his mouth to answer as he always does, to saypromise—
And Milos pulls the trigger.
Chapter 31
Paris
Tommy is so calm as he dies.
He is looking at Helen. He is promising things will be okay.
His blood is splattering against my jaw and hair and ear.
And then Helen’s knife is in her hand and the guards nearest her have crumpled to the ground, blood spilling. She is running for us, and Milos and Zarek are running for the exit, because they know—they know she will come for them next.
Blood soaks the scarlet tulle of her dress. Blood drips down her jaw.
And then Tommy is cradled in Helen’s arms, and his eyes are open, unseeing.
Only then do I falter. Only then do I slip to one side, bracing myself on the bloody ground with one hand.
And then Helen is screaming, cradling Tommy’s body against her, and screamingpromise, promise, promiseover and over again.
“She—what the fuck?” Milos is at the elevator doors, gun still trembling in his hand. He has not seen this Helen. He has not seen her unmasked, as brutal as her father and far more dangerous. “Shekilledthose guards.”
Helen is dangerous.
Oh, and only a fool would have taken so long to see it.
Helen is wailing, a high keening sound worse than anything I ever heard on Troy, but when he speaks, she looks up at him. “You,” she says. “You.”
They have gathered themselves now, Zarek and Milos, after the initial shock of Helen killing the guards.
Zarek holds up a hand, stopping Milos before he can call for the elevator. “Helen,” he says. “Look at me.”
Helen does not move.
I want to shake her by the shoulders, tell her to use her knife and finish this, but instead I am frozen at her side, Tommy’s eyes still staring, unseeing, at the spectacle unfolding on the rooftop.
“You asked me not to kill her,” Zarek says. “And I have decided, this time, to spare her. But remember there are things you love, Helen. And things you can lose.”
Helen lifts the knife, the movement sudden, her hands trembling. Then she meets my eyes at last, hers wide and haunted, and the knife clatters to the floor.
