Chapter 17
EXECUTION
GRAYSON
“All rise.”
I stand with my lawyer, straightening my tie and giving it a firm tug to loosen the constriction around my throat.
“At least there were no videos brought in this time,” Young whispers my way. “Good luck.”
Luck isn’t on my side. London made sure of that. My lawyer has lost all his enthusiastic hope he had early on at winning his shot.
Her testimony stunned everyone here. Probably every professional in her field. The only person not surprised by her sudden shift from savior to condemner is me.
I suppress a smile. I savored every second of watching her embrace her killer instinct.
As the jury files in, I let my gaze drift around the courtroom rather than look their way. I don’t need to see their bowed heads and grave expressions. I knew the outcome of this trial before it even started.
I’m searching for London. She’s all that matters now.
But she’s not here to witness her victory. I imagine her alone in some hotel room as she awaits the verdict, letting her guilt sink in deep. Guilt is such a tricky emotion, so much like all that shame she carries.
Yet my beautiful London has nothing to feel ashamed of. Who wouldn’t defend their own life? I’m a threat she simply can’t allow. I gave her no other choice.
“In the matter of Delaware versus Grayson Sullivan, on the charge of first-degree murder, how do you find the defendant?”
“Guilty, Your Honor.”
My attention snaps to Judge Lancaster. His narrowed gaze settles on me as he continues down the list of charges, confirming the jury’s guilty verdict on each count. Then he thanks the jurors for their service and dismisses them.
“I have my own remarks to deliver before your sentencing, Mr. Sullivan,” the judge says, his tone raspy with age and indignation.
“If not for the painstakingly slow process of our judicial system, I’d personally see to it that your execution be swift.
The murders you’ve committed are heinous acts of the worst kind.
In my thirty years on the bench, I’ve never witnessed such blatant disregard for human life.
Do you have anything to proclaim to this court before you’re sentenced? ”
My lawyer nudges my foot, my cue to stand and deliver my rehearsed plea for clemency.
“I do, Your Honor.” I rise and lift my chin, clear my tight throat. “I proclaim that Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”
The courtroom erupts. The judge slams his gavel, shouting for order, while my lawyer drops his head in defeat.
A slow smile curves my lips. Fuck, when will I ever get another chance to quote Shakespeare?
“Grayson Pierce Sullivan.” The judge raises his voice over the commotion.
“You have been found guilty and are hereby sentenced to imprisonment for a term of no more than one hundred years for each life you’ve taken.
You will be incarcerated in maximum security at the New Castle Correctional Facility, where you will await execution by lethal injection.
” He leans over the bench, his eyes narrowing. “May God have no mercy on your soul.”
“You’re welcome,” I say to him with a wink.
He glares at me, yet not in confusion, more like disdain.
Judge Lancaster has sentenced the majority of Delaware’s capital punishment cases to death.
Thirty years of killing with the law as his murder weapon.
He’s a killer cloaked in robes of justice, and he’s savoring every second of this—one last hurrah before the state abolishes capital punishment for good.
“Remove this monster from my courtroom.” The judge slams the gavel one last time, the final note to my life.
Handcuffs snap around my wrists just as a wave of dizziness seizes me. My throat tightens, airway growing narrow, my breath wheezing. Blood pounds in my ears as I struggle for oxygen, lungs burning and desperate for air.
Young is the first to notice. “Sullivan, it’s all right,” he says in an attempt to reassure me. “We’ll appeal. This isn’t the end—” His words cut off when the seizure hits.
My jaw clenches shut, muscles violently contracting as tremors take hold. Something bitter froths up my throat, spilling over my mouth.
“Shit. We need a doctor!” My lawyer shouts.
The officer lets my body collapse to the floor, cuffs biting painfully into my wrists. Convulsions roll through my body as darkness closes in. But then she appears, my angel of mercy come to take away the pain.
London kneels over me, pressing soft fingers to my neck. “He’s going into shock—anaphylaxis.”
Her deep brown eyes widen, and I desperately try to count the flecks of gold within them, but they blur and fade as my vision dims. As my consciousness flickers, I manage to mouth a single word to her before the dark takes me.
Killer.