Page 50 of The Villain's Captive (The Villain's Duet 1)

The cold reached my chest, and my arms went numb, falling down beside me. I closed my eyes and saw Ellie’s beautiful, innocent little face. I knew I wouldn’t be joining her in Heaven. No child whose mind was filled with so many murderous cruel thoughts could ever walk past the Pearly Gates. But I would never forget her, and I would never forgive myself for not being able to save her.

“I’m sorry, Ellie,” I whispered with my last breath, finally surrendering to the dark.

A scream tore through the silence of my thoughts—a soul-crushing, horrifying shriek. The pressure on my chest was gone, the cold melting away as my lungs expanded. I gasped and sucked in a breath, my hands touching my throat as the oxygen burned its way down.

The darkness dissipated, and I could see the terror that paled my mom’s face. A thud sounded, and I shot up as Roland’s body hit the floor, blood oozing from the back of his head. Thick, dark, crimson liquid spread through the wooden floor’s crevices, his hair and shirt soaked in blood. My heart pounded, but it wasn’t fear. It wasn’t panic.

It was…exhilarating. Seeing Roland’s corpse, knowing he was no longer here to make my life a living hell, but instead he was now burning in it, made me feel more alive than I ever had. I could feel it on my skin, the way my insides fluttered with adrenaline, my mind processing the scene in front of me with a rush.

“Please don’t hurt me.” My mom’s desperate pleas grated at my spine like fingernails on a chalkboard.

I jumped off the bed, and in the doorway stood the man with the classic striped beret and gray coat, holding a gun in his hand. It was the man I saw on the corner earlier, the man who carried the guitar case.

His unfamiliar presence filled the room as if he owned it, his large frame built to intimidate.

“Who are you?” I stepped over Roland’s dead body without blinking.

The man placed his finger over his lips, touching his mustache, gray-blue eyes peering from underneath his beret. Maybe I was a fool, but I didn’t fear him. I was drawn to him and the power he bathed in. The mystery that radiated off him. How he just walked in here, killing Roland without blinking, as if he had the authority and the right to take a life. Everything about this very scene captivated me, as if something inside my head had slid into place, and I found myself. Knew who I wanted to be.

I wanted to be…him.

My mom cried, and I looked her way as she slid down the wall like the pathetic mess she was. Her eyes were wild, glazed, her left arm raw, scabbed and bruised from her constant drug abuse. I would have pitied her if I weren’t on the receiving end of her destruction.

The man held out his hand, revealing a syringe in his palm. I knew what it was. I had lived with a junkie long enough to know what heroin looked like. I also knew what the silent man was saying, what I needed to do.

He knew.

He didn’t know me, but he knew.

She had to pay. My mother. She had to atone for what she did to me. To Ellie. It was the only way; I could feel it in my blood. The need to try and right all the wrongs this miserable human being had caused.

I took the syringe and turned before crouching in front of her, my eyes level with hers. There was no life, no soul, just an empty vessel of broken dreams and shitty choices.

“Please,” she begged, tears and snot dangling from her chin. It was clear as daylight that she was high, her mind no longer present. But she felt the fear. She felt the panic. The terror. “Don’t let him hurt me.”

Music started playing, coming from my mother’s room. It was an orchestral tune I didn’t recognize, but I instantly loved it. I couldn’t explain it, but the music sounded as if it was composed for this moment, meant to be played while I looked into my mom’s bloodshot eyes, her lips parted as violent sobs poured from her miserable existence.

The syringe was almost weightless inside my palm, but carried so much weight, and I knew the only way to be rid of it—to be rid of the load—was to do this one thing.

I eased forward, gently taking her arm in my hand. My mom whimpered, but her tears seemed to have subsided.

“Where is Ellie, Mom?” I stroked her skin along the inside of her elbow. “Where is my little sister?”

“Ellie? No. No. No, Ellie.” Her words came out with panicked breaths. “Elijah.”

“Where is Ellie?” I yanked her arm, my patience wearing thin.

“No, no, no. Ellie. It’s not real.”

“You’re lying!” I snapped, and she closed her eyes, rolling her head from side to side against the wall. “You bitch!”

My anger fueled my actions, and I pulled her closer, placing the tip of the needle against the vein in her bruised arm. Some of the wounds oozed from infected flesh, but I felt nothing.

No compassion.

No sympathy.

No heart.

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