Page 230 of Boy of Ruin
When I’m inside the empty building, I flick on the overhead lights, watch them spark to life in rows.
It’s hot in here, which is unsurprising. I can hear the thunder flickering beyond the walls of the warehouse, and I stand against the wall, close my eyes.
All I see is her.
She’s what I’ve seen behind my closed eyes for two decades.
Seems fitting she’s here now, with me in the last moments.
I thumb the safety on the gun, pull my phone from my pocket, count to three.
Then I send that text to Nicolas, close my eyes again.
Her. Her. It’ll always be her. Nicolas knows better than to tell her, but I think Lucifer knows. When I left his hospital room, I think he knew.
Dropping the phone—the sound echoing in the warehouse—I hold the gun under my chin and take a deep breath.
All this fight, and it wasn’t for nothing.
It was for her.
I feel a sense of peace at that. That I was there in the beginning, and in the end of my life, I helped her by doing just this.
My finger is on the trigger, and I’m surprised the way my heart picks up speed, like I’m nervous.
I’ve wanted to die for a very, very long time.
Without Sid by my side, there’s not much to live for.
Still, my mouth goes dry, my hand starts to shake.
And it’s my good hand. My right hand.
The one without the scars. The damage.
But I’m still shaking, and my knees feel weak.
I know how to push past fear though. I swallow, take another deep breath. And just as my finger twitches on the trigger, I hear a voice, and at first I think it’s in my head.
“Sicher.”
I keep my eyes closed, wondering why the hallucinations have to start now. Very unfortunate timing.
“But that was a lie, wasn’t it, Jeremiah?”
My eyes spring open as I slowly lower the gun, turn my head.
Only to see a ghost.
The gun slips from my hand.
The sound makes me flinch as I turn to take her in. The bluest eyes. So blue, they seem unreal. Her hair is long and dark down her back, nearly blending in to the all-black she’s wearing, a gun in her hand. There are tattoos along her collarbone, edging up her neck, down her arms, over her hands.
“And you don’t get to kill yourself,” she whispers, stepping closer.
There’s no fucking way.
“You know, you taught me to like the darkness. The ruins. And you?” She smiles, dimples flashing in her pale face. “You ruined me.” Another step, and she’s aiming that gun at my gut, the barrel against my shirt. “Surprise.” She flashes a wider smile at my shock. “You should really check into your hitmen before you hire them, Jeremiah.”
