Page 125 of Cain
“Tell me something,” I say, taking another step closer. “When you practiced this little speech in front of the mirror this morning, did it sound more convincing?”
Paul’s smile fades.
“You’re arrogant, Cain. You think just because you’ve built yourself a throne, no one can reach you.”
“No. I just know how to recognize a rat who’s still chewing through the ground.”
His eyes flit up one more time, and I follow them briefly. There’s some movement.
I grin. “If this is your big betrayal, you should’ve hired better men.”
And then everything explodes, causing him to bend over, startling him and our men to run around like insects.Useless piece of shit.
He screams orders to his men.
One of his men attacks me from behind, but I turn fast and slam him against a container. My elbow meets his throat, my knife his guts.
The warehouse is a war zone. Gunfire. Screams.
I let his corpse fall to the ground and prowl towards Paul.
“Cain, wait, I can explain,” he mutters, stumbling back.
“I don’t want you to explain. I want you to die,” I growl, raising my gun.
I put a bullet in his heart, then another in his head. He drops to the ground, dead before he even hits it.
Then everything stills, like the whole world stops breathing.
A small red dot quivers on my chest.
I go still, my breath turning slow, and I don’t move a muscle. Carefully, I glance down at it.
Fuck … this is it—my end.
I raise my head back up, bringing her face into my thoughts, and breathe out her name. “Katerina.”
My eyes close slightly, as if they’re heavy. As if opening them would take more strength than I have left.
Then, two hands grab my leather jacket’s collar, dragging me forward and shoving me hard behind a container. My back hits the metal, eliciting a grunt from me.
“You?” I breathe.
“You’ve already given up?” His brown eyes squint.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Saving my big brother’s ass.”
Ihave a weird feeling today. Cain left without saying where he’d go. Not that he ever says anything, but today is different. He hasn’t come back yet.
The clock will soon hit 11 p.m., and I should be in my room, so I’ll be locked inside. Instead, I’m circling the front door, waiting like a dog. What if he comes back and doesn’t find me where I’m supposed to be? Will he come back? Why does my heart skip just at the mere thought of it?
And then, as if he heard me, he barges into the mansion, banging the door in his wake. I blink in surprise.
“Landon?” he yells.
He’scovered in dirt and blood. Is it his own? His dark blonde hair is messy, appearing darker than usual, almost as if it’s damp.
