Page 9 of Touch of Hate

This time, I follow through on the impulse to close the laptop and end the call. It’s better to do that before I say something I can’t take back.

River is dangerous, but unlike most, his bark is nothing compared to his bite. When he puts his mind to something, if he’s determined enough, he’ll destroy anything in his wake. That’s definitely one thing I admire about him.

It’s better to control him and keep him in line than let him take control.

My body is heavy as I rise from the couch. There’s no decision that needs to be made. This has to happen, and I need to be the one to do it. I don’t trust River when it comes to Q. Let him taunt all he wants, but I’ve known him long enough to understand where his attitude stems from. It’s jealousy, plain and simple. He resents the presence of anyone in my life who isn’t Luna or himself.

Let him pretend all he wants that this is strictly according to plan, that Q is a casualty of war. He can’t convince me otherwise. I know it’s personal for him.

Which is why he can’t be the one to do it. This needs to look like an accident. It’s too likely River will lose his cool, and things will get out of hand. We don’t need a blood bath. A bad fall is one thing, but I get the feeling there’d be questions if Q ended up with his face kicked in until it was unrecognizable.

It’s better this way.

That’s what I tell myself as I march resolutely to the door and open it slowly, quietly, listening for any voices or footsteps signaling I’m not alone.

One good thing about the fallout from Aspen’s attack, aside from the spotlight no longer being on Scarlet and me, is that most everyone chooses to stay in their apartments now in case the attacker decides to strike again.

There’s not much that will keep Q from a workout, though; he’s a creature of habit.

He ought to be wrapping up any time now and will take the stairs down to his apartment rather than use the elevator. It’s a part of his cooldown process.

My heart is heavy though my feet are light, carrying me soundlessly down the hall. The silence brings to mind a graveyard. I’m sure that’s my guilty conscience plaguing me. Q trusts me above anyone in his life, and this is how I’m repaying him.

He isn’t family. He isn’t blood.

And as River loves to remind me, this is war. That’s what gets me to the stairwell closest to the gym, where I press myself into a corner, fading into the shadows. I have to do this. There’s no other way. No matter how I wish otherwise.

My heart’s pounding hard enough that I wonder if Q will hear it before he reaches me. A deep breath helps center me—until the door one floor up swings open, followed by the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

This is it. Remember what matters. Remember where this all started.

In my mind’s eye, I see myself pushing him down the stairs from behind, then following him down and finishing the job while he’s dazed. A single slam against the concrete stairs should be enough to smash his skull like an egg.

A buzzing noise fills my head, growing louder with every step he descends. Holding my breath, I watch as he rounds the landing above me, unaware he isn’t alone, jogging down the stairs while looking at his phone. He slides it into his pocket as he rounds this landing, not ten feet from where I’m waiting.

This is it.

No going back now.

Once his back is turned, I lunge before I lose my nerve, both hands against his shoulders.

I can barely bite back a frustrated cry as I push.

I’m a traitor. He trusted me, and now he’s falling, tumbling down the unforgiving stairs. I can’t see much of him in the dim light, but I don’t need to. I hear him, and that’s more than enough to turn my stomach and make me curse the day River ever suggested we get revenge.

He comes to a stop at the next landing and lies still for a few breathless moments that seem to stretch on forever.

Did I get lucky for once? Did the fall kill him?

Of course it didn’t.

A muffled groan fills the stairwell not a second later, and my stomach plummets. I know what I have to do, but I can’t.

I have to look into the face of my best friend before smashing his skull.

Why won’t my feet move?

I grip the railing, steeling myself, teeth gritted against the agony burning my insides like acid. My jaw fucking aches from the tension. River’s voice rings out in my head.

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