Page 91 of Grave Love
Blood gushes from my nostrils, and I beam.
She’s fighting. Still resisting. The fire still burns inside of her, even while it’s slowly dying.
I killed that fire, didn’t I?
No. She’s still here. Still alive.
Sorrow and joy radiate inside of me. Pushing against my shell. Threatening to break me.
I keep it locked inside. I have to.
“You want to play that game?” I ask.
“Fuck yo—”
I punch her in the solar plexus. She coughs, the wind knocked out of her, and I use that time to finish chaining her to the bed. Her wet hair soaks the sheets, her mouth panting. Last time, I put her in a choke chain that she could take off at her own will. This time, she’s wearing special cuffs that require a key. She’ll stay on that bed untilIlet her go. She’s not in a shipping container, but she’s still trapped. She’ll die like them.My way.
And yet, I know that’s not what’s going to happen.
“The fuck is wrong with you?” she hisses. “You think you can keep me here? Like a pet? I’m not one of your victims, Blaze. Fuck—”
The words drown out, her eyes red. Angry tears stream down her face with more force than a hurricane.
Everything inside of me breaks. Crushes me. I no longer have air to breathe.
Her mouth moves. I can’t hear her words.
I hurt her.
I’m as bad as them.
For a second, I wonder if I should let her go. If what I’m doing is wrong.
Her eyes widen, focusing on something behind me. A shadow looms over my shoulder, a presence erasing those thoughts.
My hearing tunnels. My vision sharp. I grab the gun from the nightstand, dropping the keys to Ren’s restraints in the process. My only focus is the intruder. Whoever it is that threatening our moment here.
I jerk forward, facing him.
My brother.
His mouth contorts, exploding with expletives. I shove him, his body smashing into the wall. Denting it.
He gasps, startled by my force. I open the nightstand. Find the bullets. Load them into the chamber.
Ren’s voice sears into me, but I can’t understand the words. I only know what I have to do next.
I won’t let anyone fuck with Ren ever again. Even him.
Brody stumbles to his feet. Reaches the bedroom. Pulls my arm. Tries to grab the gun. I slice through the air with my fist, the full impact on his jaw. He trips. Falls to the floor. I stomp a boot on his chest, pinning him to the floor.
Brody looks up at me, his executioner. And fuck, if I don’t feelrighteousright now.
There’s no art in a gunshot, but Ren is right. It’s definite.
I shoot him in the forehead.
He collapses on the hardwood floor. Blood drips down the sides of his face, each stream slow, like the last drops of rain drying on a window.
