Page 210 of Boy of Ruin
What a fucking mess this guy is.
“It’s just another weapon.” His eyes widen, but before he can react, I thread the bandana beneath his neck, then crisscross it over his throat as I lean down close to him as his mouth opens, and he tries to breathe.
Good luck, fucker.
His hands come to my shoulders, digging in, but he’s too weak.
He’s always been too weak. For my sister. For the Unsaints. For the breath he fucking breathes.
I enjoy the way his pale face turns red, nearly matching the color of his blood.
“I’m going to enjoy fucking your wife for the rest of my life. I’m going to enjoy whispering to your child just how awful their father was.” I smile at him, close to his face, feeling nothing coming from his nose. His open mouth.
The pressure against my shoulder grows weaker, and he’s barely holding onto me.
“I’m going to enjoy picking off every last fucking one of your—”
“Jeremiah.”
I freeze, my words cut off, but I don’t loosen my hold on the bandana, even as my hand shakes. Even as that tremor cuts through me, reminding me exactly what kind of person my half-brother is.
Footsteps echo behind me.
I hold my breath, refusing to look away from Lucifer, because I want to see him fucking die.
“Let him go,” Sid begs me.
I see Lucifer’s blue eyes shift to look up at her.
I see her bare feet, her slender legs.
I don’t let go of Lucifer as he slumps back, his eyes fluttering closed, his mouth open, like he’s trying to form a word.
A fucking word he doesn’t deserve to say.
I lean closer. “What was that, prick?” I snarl at him. “Go ahead. Give me your last fucking word.” I cross the bandana tighter, see his jaw tense, his brows furrow, but his hands drop by his sides.
It won’t be much longer now.
But Sid squats down.
She holds something to my head.
Warm.
As I turn to look at her, she adjusts the barrel of the gun, forcing it against my temple. Her eyes are wide, panic etched onto her face, but her aim is steady, Lucifer’s body between us.
“Let go of him,” she says, her tone nothing but fucking ice.
Those words stab in my gut, because I don’t want her to want him. I don’t want her to give a fuck about him.
It’s me and her, and it’s always been me and her.
Always.
Still, I loosen my hold on the bandana.
Enough that Lucifer gasps.
