Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Collapse - Fire From The Gods
I drugged Ronan’s paint thinner. Why he insists on drinking tequila, I don’t fucking know. I should kill him just for his questionable taste.
But I find myself staring down at him as he sleeps, unable to pull the gun out from my waistband. He looks just like him , with his pale skin and pouty lips. But also, nothing like him. Ronan has no birthmark, and he looks a little bit more rugged than Greyson ever did.
He still looks exactly like pain.
As I look, I realize Ronan has something clenched in his right hand. I bend over and take it from him.
It’s a damn pill bottle. Nausea medication.
My heart clenches.
It hurts so damn bad. It hurts like it just happened yesterday. Like my chest is collapsing in on itself, and I suddenly feel everything all at once. All the feelings I try so hard to avoid cut through my chest like shards of plaster. I feel like my heart is bleeding.
“Jesus Christ.” I pace next to Ronan’s bed. Get it together. Stop feeling . My heart is racing, and my palms are sweating. I just can’t get it together. Why can’t I get it together?
That was fourteen years ago. This is now. This is Ronan. The man who actively wants to kill me. The one who I should kill. Right fucking now.
I suck in a breath, trying to stabilize myself. I wasn’t even breathing this hard when I broke in, even though Ronan made it difficult this time. The ass-sucking whore.
I snap my gaze back over to him.
Kill him. It’s what you came to do .
But nothing in my body wants to pull my gun on him. It’s like my body is frozen. All I can do is spin the ring around on my right index finger. Spin, spin, spin in circles.
Just like I’ve been doing for fourteen years.
Christ. I don’t have to kill him right this second. Right? I’ll kill him later. Later, when he sees it coming. I don’t want him to get off easy.
Relief washes over me, followed immediately by disgust. I can’t do this again. Not again. I won’t survive it this time.
I didn’t survive it last time .
I’ll do it. I’ll kill him. I stride up, pull the gun out of the back of my pants, and point it at Ronan.
Something in my gut tingles, my spidey senses going off. This isn’t right. The timing isn’t right. The medication isn’t right. His face isn’t right.
Jesus! I’ve never been so conflicted over a kill. They always feel right. Every single time.
This isn’t Greyson.
Right? Ronan just got in my head. I’ll make him pay for that. I’ll make him pay for making me feel my heart break all over again. I need to torment him a little longer before I kill him.
I’m clenching my fists so hard my rings dig into my fingers.
Yes. I’ll screw with him before he dies. For as long as I can drag it out, he’s going to pay for making me remember.