Page 385 of Vicious Saint
“Fuck you…you fucking crazy bitch.”
“You’re not wrong…because for some reason killing your daughter just put me in a really good mood.” I press the barrel harder into his head. “And it turns out, like you told Saint earlier, being in a good mood makes me do nice things for those about to die.” Sucking air through my teeth, I continue, “So, Nikolai, before you enter Hell along with your son and daughter, you can rot assured knowing your youngest daughter Alexis will be right behind you soon enough.”
With that…crack goes the pistol.
51
Hendrix
Killer.
Murderer.
Executioner.
These three words have been marching like a black parade through my head for the past five days. Yet, no matter how many times I hear their footsteps, the idea I’m considered each is still a foreign concept.
Even though it wasmewho held Carlo’s gun,mewho shot Nikolai and Leerie in cold blood,mewho watched Dante and his men finish them off execution-style.
In all eyes of morality and law, I’m guilty as charged.
Blood will forever be on my hands.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret what I did, shit, I’d shoot those two again with a smile.
But becoming a killer feels no less finite than the act of being killed.
For starters…what will happen after I die?
I may not be a religious person, but I do believe there’s a God and Hell reserved for those who do bad things. I also believe killing a person, even one who killed someone you loved, scores you an invitation down to the worst level.
Or circle.
Or whatever the heck theotherDante guy called it.
I’ve heard Vic mention after one of his many Sunday morning bible reading-slash-unsolicited sermons, that God is merciful, so if that’s the case, I guess I’ll just have to spend the rest of my life on my best behavior.
Super easy fucking peasy…
“Knock, knock.” Mom appears at my bedroom door, still in her pajamas, holding a mug. “Made you some chamomile tea.”
A.K.A. the millionth olive branch extended since I landed my ass back in this bed.
Right after I…did what I didto Nikolai Ivanov and Leerie, Dante offered me a private escort back to the mansion, one I was in too much shock and pain to try and argue. The entire ride consisted of me groaning, and him insisting I wouldn’t have to worry about repercussions. That, because of my loyalty to Carlo, Nikolai’s empire collapsed and he’s more than capable of making sure it remains this way.
The second we got to the mansion, though, chaos two-point-oh unfolded when I was ambushed by medical professionals, and Dante was ambushed by my mother’s hand slapping his face. Words got tossed around, along with bodies, all while my mother continued cursing Dante for conspiring against her when I was in danger.
Auntie holding a hysterical Juniper up was the last of what my working eye got to spy before getting rushed into a medical room I never even knew Vic had in the mansion.
Which leaves us here, now, Mom still alive, but with dark circles under her eyes, entering my room even though I didn’t invite her in.
“How are you feeling this morning?” she asks, sitting beside where I’m propped to offer the mug.
Taking it, I respond with, “To be honest…I forgot what my body feels like without cuts and bruises.”
“Looks like the swelling around your eye has come down even more. Can you see fully?”
“Yeah…but it hurts when I strain.”
