Page 84 of Raziel
She frowned. “For what, Maya?”
I cleared my throat, the truth a jagged stone I had to finally spit out.
“When our parents left,” I began, the words feeling like shards of glass in my throat, “the neighbor. Mr. Henderson. He was so helpful to you. Brought us groceries. Picked me up from school.” I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to meet her confused eyes. “He was the one who started me on the pills. Told me they’d make the ache go away. Make me forget they left us. He gave them to me... for free... at first.” I left the part about what happened when they stopped being free out. “Then one day, I woke up in a room with three other girls. I found out he got us hooked, then planned to sell us to men who wanted… disposable girls.”
I turned back to Alessia and took another step forward. My voice didn’t shake.
“Then he walked in,” I said, my eyes locked on Alessia’s. “Raziel. He wasn’t there for us. He was there for a gun deal. But he saw us. He saw what they were doing. And he killed everybody in that room. He called it disgusting.” I could still see the cold fury on his face, the way he’d looked at us not astrash, but as something worth saving. “He took us to the hospital himself. Paid for everything. I knew, the moment I saw him, fresh out of rehab and broken, that I was meant to be his. It was fate.”
I raised the gun, my hand trembling. I pointed it at Alessia’s forehead. She squeezed her eyes shut, sobbing against her gag.
I wanted to pull the trigger. I wanted to erase her from the world for what she’d taken from me.
But I couldn’t.
My finger trembled on the trigger. A sob ripped from my chest. I lowered the gun, my whole body shaking with the effort of not ending her life.
“I can’t,” I whispered, defeated. “I’m not a killer.”
From the deep shadows near the door, a figure emerged. Caine. I hadn’t even heard him arrive. He walked toward us, his expression unreadable. He didn’t look at me or his father. He just looked at the three people on their knees.
He stopped beside me. Without a word, he took the gun from my limp hand, his fingers brushing mine. They were cold.
He didn’t hesitate.
Pop. Pop. Pop
Three clean, precise shots. Alessia and Enzio crumpled to the concrete, the sounds echoing in the vast, empty space.
Caine handed the gun back to Priest. “You don’t have to be the monster,” he said to me, his voice quiet. “When you’re surrounded by so many.”
Then he turned and walked back into the shadows.
Priest looked satisfied. Miyori looked shaken, staring at the bodies in stunned silence. Raffaele just sighed, a world of weariness in the sound.
I wiped my face, my breath shuddering. “I just want Raziel to wake up,” I whispered, feeling like the world was on pause until he did.
Thirty Eight- Maya
It had been six days since Raziel had been shot. The hospital said he was stable. Healing. But I wouldn’t believe shit until I heard his voice.
I was six days sober. The jagged edges of my craving had smoothed into a dull, manageable ache, thanks to Miyori’s relentless watchfulness and the sheer exhaustion of what we’d done.
It had been three days since I saw Alessia’s and her father’s blood pool across cracked concrete. Priest’s penthouse, close to the hospital, was finally starting to feel less like a cage and more like a sanctuary.
We were in the kitchen. She was making tea. The silence between us was heavy, filled with the ghost of gunshots and the things I’d finally said aloud. She wanted to know about Henderson, about the details of that room, about the drugs, but I’d shut that down. That pain was mine to carry alone. She had enough trauma. I knew she was getting ready to hit me with questions about what I’d said about Raziel, though.
She set a steaming mug in front of me, her eyes not leaving my face. “So Raziel saved you. That’s why,” she said softly, her voice careful. “That’s why you were so determined to have him? From the very beginning?”
I wrapped my hands around the warm ceramic, letting the heat seep into my bones. There was no point in hiding it anymore. The truth was out, lying on the warehouse floor between us.
“Yes,” I said, the word simple and absolute.
I looked up at her. “He walked into that hellhole and he saw people, Mi. Not junkies. Not problems. Not disposable girls. He sawus. And he burned it all down for us. For me.”
I took a shaky breath, the memory as vivid as it had ever been. “How do you not spend the rest of your life trying to be worthy of that?”
My voice dropped to a whisper. “I put up with everything,” I continued, the words leaking out like a confession. “His silence. His distance. His indifference. Alessia. Because he’shim. Do you know what it felt like to see him again after everything? After rehab? Like somebody threw me a rope. And I didn’t just grab it—I wrapped myself in it.”
