Page 125 of Only for Him
And I don’t care anymore.
“I don’t know!” Skinner sobs. “Please, I don’t know!”
“I don’t believe you,” I say. “Talk.”
“I told you everything already. You want her number? I’ll give it to you. Just make it stop. Just give me… give me a minute… fuck! Seven! Seven… seven-five-four-two. That was her number.”
My stomach drops and my blood turns to sleet.
I want to scream.
I’ve spent years hunting that number, but I never wanted to know it. Because now that I know it, it’s become real. Everything that happened to her is now thrown into sharp relief, and I feel the air being squeezed out of my lungs.
It’s too fucking real now. I can imagine it too fucking well.
Serena…
Tears stream down my face. And raw anguish severs the last thread holding me together. Darkness creeps into the edge of my vision, and when I look back at Roman, I see a pair of blue flame burning through the darkness, encouraging and permissive.
His breath brushes my throat like a brand.
“Who else was involved?” I turn back and scream at Skinner. “Who bought her? Who targeted her? Where did they take her?”
Skinner blabbers but gives us nothing.
“Do whatever you want now, little viper,” he whispers. “Give your sister the justice that she deserves. The justice thatyou’vewanted. The punishment that this piece of shit needs.”
For a second, I just stare at the man: already a ruin of blood and sweat.
Not ruined enough for what he’s done.
I see my sister’s face, her hair matted and eyes wild, and I see every girl I ever failed to save. The pain in my chest grows into something huge and final.
I don’t ask more questions. I wrap my hand around Skinner’s jaw and dig the blade into his eye. His scream fills the room, bouncing off the walls and filling every crack.
I don’t stop.
I stab and stab, clean and precise, the way Roman does. I carve the truth out of him, cut the lies away, until there’s nothing left but red and bone and the echo of my own rage.
When it’s done, I drop the knife.
I look at Roman. His face is shining. Not pride. Worship, maybe.
I can’t stand it.
We are the same, built from the same broken bones and stolen years, and nothing will ever change that.
I turn away, hands shaking.
This doesn’t feel like vengeance.
This feels like justice.
My hands are slippery. I drop to my knees and stare at what I’ve done.
I was right. Nothing feels the same. There is no going back.
I don’t know who I’ll be now, but I’m not the woman I was.
