56. Juliette
Juliette
W e made it out alive. Barely.
Back at the hotel room, I stared at my reflection in the bathroom.
My hair was a matted mess. My face was covered in blood splatters.
My clothes stained crimson. I was glad Dante was able to get us in through a back entrance.
We would have never made it two feet into the lobby without all hell breaking loose.
I’d killed men before. Tortured them, even. Blood stained my hands, but it never felt like this before. I looked the same—more or less—but I didn’t feel it.
I’d killed Ivy’s father. My chest twisted, something ugly spreading through my veins.
Hate. Bitterness. Regret?
I didn’t know. All I knew was that it felt heavy. It made it hard to breathe. Did Ivy know? Or was she truly clueless about who her father really was?
I placed my forehead against the mirror, leaving red smudges on it, and let the coolness of it soothe. But it didn’t calm me, didn’t make me feel better.
There were too many revelations. Too many thoughts swirling in my head.
Wynter and Basilio left shortly after we got back. Wynter was frantic when she saw us, and it took everything Basilio had to calm her down. Dante refused to leave me alone. He was stubborn, but so was I. I just couldn’t bear anyone’s company right now.
All the death, killings, the torturing—none of it bothered me. The revenge was sweet. But killing Ivy’s father hit me all wrong. There was nothing sweet about it.
“Juliette.”
Dante’s voice came from behind me. I hadn’t even heard him enter the bathroom over the ringing I still felt in my ears from the gunshots.
“Yes.” My voice was distant. Resigned.
I didn’t bother moving, the fatigue heavy in my bones and in my soul.
“Want me to start the shower for you?”
“Sure.”
Truthfully, I wanted to crawl under the covers and fall into oblivion. A dreamless sleep. I wanted to forget. My thoughts were all over the place. The innocent girl I’d once been was now a killer. A sadistic killer.
God, I’m so tired. So fucking tired.
I wanted to be that little girl again who had no cares—no troubles—in the world and was thankful to a boy who saved her. A simple token of gratitude—a pink scrunchie.
He moved around the bathroom, his footsteps firm against the tile. The sound of plumbing and the rush of water. A shudder rolled down my spine. Cold and biting.
“Are you cold?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I closed my eyes. I didn’t think there was anything to warm me up from this. The chill had seeped deep into my bones.
His hands came to my shoulders and I tensed, my spine stiffening. “It’s okay. I’m going to help you undress and then you can get in the shower.” Another shiver. “Nothing else,” he promised softly.
The backs of my eyes burned. Why did he have to be nice to me? It made my emotions bounce all over the place.
He carefully peeled my clothes off, piece by piece, his touch tender.
My throat squeezed and so did my chest. Maybe all the killings, starting with Brandon Dole and ending with Ivy’s father, had finally caught up to me.
Although I still didn’t feel an ounce of guilt over killing Brandon nor Sam.
In fact, I felt no remorse over killing anyone. But Ivy’s father…
“Okay, it’s on the warmer side.” He pulled me away from the mirror and led me to the shower. “If it’s too hot, let me know and I can adjust it.”
I stepped under the spray and felt… nothing.
A heavy sigh filled the bathroom. It was Dante’s.
He kicked off his shoes, then his ruined suit coat.
Still fully clothed, he stepped into the shower and started washing me.
First my hair. Then my body. His movements were methodical.
His eyes were sharp on me, ensuring I wouldn’t lose my shit and fall into a full-blown panic attack.
But I didn’t. There was nothing left. I was just empty. Hollow.
Ten minutes later, I was clean. He dried me off and dressed me in pajamas like I was a child.
“Right leg,” he instructed. I did what he said, slipping my foot into the soft material. “Left leg.” I repeated the motion. “Hands up.”
I sighed and put them up so he could slide a shirt down my body. Then he reached for a glass of water and two little white pills.
When I sought out his gaze, he said, “Ibuprofen.”
I nodded, placing them on my tongue and downing the entire glass.
“Okay, now to bed.”
He didn’t have to say it twice. I crawled under the covers and he tucked them around me. Kind of like Liam used to do when I was a little girl.
When I was innocent.
I squeezed my eyelids shut. “I’m not going to sleep with you,” I rasped, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I’ll be on the couch,” he stated matter-of-factly. Like him sleeping on the couch was the most natural thing in the world. “Get some sleep. I’m going to take a shower.”
I didn’t answer. It took too much effort. My body was too fatigued. My mind too clouded.
* * *
The blackness threatened to swallow me whole.
Images flashed through my mind. Some that I’d lived through and others that my imagination conjured up. The thug in the alley. Dante saving me. The rape. Dante, there again. My parents as they burned. Dad as he saved me.
I awoke with a start, the sheets stuck to my sweaty skin.
Catching my breath, I slowly opened my eyes to find Dante sleeping on the couch.
The moon dusted its glow over his beautiful face, and I found myself wishing I could see his dark eyes shimmering like the sky that currently ruled the night.
His arms were folded over his chest and he had his feet up on the coffee table, right next to his handgun.
Guilt pinched my chest, but I ignored it. I wasn’t prepared to forgive and forget.
Shifting on the hotel bed, my eyes caught on the letters Dante had given me. They sat waiting on the nightstand, right next to the envelope from Kian, unopened. It was a moot point to open Kian’s envelope, but it wasn’t too late for Dante’s.
I reached over and took them. Keeping my movements soft, I slowly unfolded the first letter. To my surprise, it was addressed to me.
Juliette Brennan.
The little girl who said she’d save me one day. It should have been funny, except that it wasn’t. She didn’t know she was saving me from the moment she handed me that ridiculous scrunchie.
In the days that were dark, it kept me sane. That vibrant, happy color. I kept it in a safe place and only dug it out when I needed the reminder.
I still have your pink scrunchie, Juliette.
The moment I saw you again—first dancing on top of the bar in The Eastside and then in my casino—I knew you were the one for me. Your mouth. Your smile. And your eyes… they are my heaven and hell. My happiness and torment. My desire and emptiness.
If I have to move heaven and hell, Juliette, one day you’ll be mine.
And I’ll be yours.
I stared at the letters, glowing under the light of the full moon. My eyes flickered to Dante’s sleeping face, then back to the words that opened something within me I couldn’t quite distinguish.
Was it forgiveness? I shook my head. No, it couldn’t be.
Was it love? I didn’t know. But it was strong and feral.
Consuming. It terrified me with its intensity.
The boy who saved me. I promised to save him too, and all I had done was give him a hard time.
Maybe it was time to start afresh—for both of our sakes.
Taking a lungful of air, I breathed out as I unfolded the next letter and started reading.
And then more letters followed. They spoke of his most secret thoughts, admissions about his feelings that I doubted he would ever voice out loud.
Then there was the one about his mother and I wanted to cry for the little boy who had suffered so much.
It explained a lot about who he was, and why he did the things that he did.
It wasn’t until the first rays of dawn flickered through the window that I finished reading the last of them.
Unfolding it slowly my eyes skimmed the pages.
To my wildling wife.
I finally have you.
It feels like heaven but also hell. I fear our time will be limited and you will hate me once you learn what I have done. I hope you never will, but I learned a long time ago “hope” wasn’t for the likes of me.
You’re the one thing I can’t bear to lose. The one thing I’ve clung to for all these years.
You see, I’m fucked up. Whether I was born this way or my mother made me this way, I’ll never know.
In my life, there were rare things and a few special people I got attached to.
My grandfather’s gifts were some of those things.
My brother was one of those people. And my mother took enjoyment in torturing me by destroying those things, especially the people I loved.
The girl with a pink scrunchie saved me.
She gave me strength as she handed me that little pink piece of cloth and elastic.
If a girl could promise to save me, I could surely save my brother and myself too.
From the ghosts of the past to the terrors of the present.
It was your simple strength that gave me mine to do something I should have done a long time ago.
I made sure that my mother could never hurt us again.
I killed her for all the wrongs she had done.
To my little brother. To me.
But certain wounds were too deep. Christian has been dealing in his own way.
And I… well, you were my way of dealing.
You became my obsession but also my love.
It started as a fond kind of affection for a little girl.
But then, it matured into a deep love, slowly but surely, as our paths kept crossing, like fate was making sure we’d find each other again.
This will be my last letter. I want to enjoy every second of you. I’ll enjoy this taste of heaven for as long as I can, so I’ll remember it through the days of hell that I know are bound to come. Some things are inevitable—like the truth.
I hope at least part of you will know that I never intended to hurt you. You’re my most cherished possession even though I can never own such a magnificently independent woman. But know this, you own my heart.
I love you. Remember that when the times are hard.
Your Dante.
P.S. That bedroom furniture will never arrive. I bought out the company and canceled your order.
I swallowed, then folded the letter back up—carefully—like it was the heart of a fragile little boy. Maybe it was. My eyes traveled to my husband and saw an entirely different man sleeping on the couch. He looked the same. He smelled the same. But there was something fundamentally different.
Not something. Someone. Me.
I slid out of the bed and padded barefoot across the room toward him. The closer I got, the stronger his scent was. Calming. Soothing. I leaned over and put my hand on his shoulder and he jerked, reaching for his weapon.
“It’s me,” I murmured softly.
He blinked, sleep still heavy in his eyes. “Is everything okay?”
I nodded. “The bed is big enough for both of us.” I tugged on him, his eyes suspicious as he looked at me.
Maybe he thought I’d kill him. We’d probably end up killing each other in the end, so he probably had reason to eye me warily.
“I haven’t forgiven you for drugging me.
I haven’t forgotten that you asked my father rather than me for my hand in marriage.
” I tilted my head pensively. “It would have been nice to just date for a while. But we’ll deal with that tomorrow.
Or the day after.” I pulled on his arm again. “For now, let’s just get some sleep.”
It was the least I could do.