29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
HARLOW
The shrill sound of a woman’s scream penetrates my brain as my heart slams against my breastbone, the beating drum in my chest muffled by the whoosh of blood in my ears.
It’s too loud. It’s all too fucking loud.
And I can’t escape it because the sounds are coming from somewhere within my aching body.
“No,” I scream, desperately pleading for this not to be real.
But it is real. This is my reality.
Just like in the alley when Lynx murdered the two contract killers, I watch helplessly as he approaches Alexander from behind, his head dipped low as he closes in on his prey.
The silver knife in his hand winks at me as he reaches forward.
He grabs him.
Oh god.
All the blood in my body crystalizes as the world around me slows to a crawl.
As if in slow motion, the blade slashes across Alexander’s throat, cutting clean through his jugular and painting the air with the essence of life.
A crimson haze casts a kaleidoscope of varying shades of red across the stream of headlights illuminating the scene before me.
Lynx, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Deadly, looms over Alexander’s lifeless body, his chest rising and falling as spurts of blood spray from the slit throat of one of the men whose death belonged to me.
I close my eyes and breathe through the panic. But it’s pointless. I can’t win.
Because I never fucking win!
Two. One.
Scream.
I do just that, kicking and thrashing and pulling at the door handle until my arms ache. But it won’t fucking open because Lynx tricked me. He trapped me in this fucking truck and then murdered Alexander in front of me as if it were nothing at all.
“I hate you!” I scream through the windshield, hot tears pouring down my cheeks as a crackle of rage snaps through me like a lightning bolt. “I fucking hate you!”
But he just stands there, still and silent, watching me fall apart and lose grip on the remnants of my sanity.
Deep down, I knew this day would come. I knew he’d do something to make me want to go back in time and murder him when I had the chance.
But I can’t fucking do that. And now, despite the fact I’m still living and breathing because of him, I want nothing more than to end it all.
Sobbing uncontrollably and feeling utterly defeated, I lift the handgun to my head and press it against my temple. My hand trembles as tears stream down my face, dripping off the edge of my jaw and soaking into my sweater as I find Lynx’s beautiful navy-blue eyes in the distance.
His face is distorted from my tears, but I can still make out his expression.
Pity.
It always comes down to pity.
Exhaling a shaky breath, I slide my finger over the trigger and cock the hammer, closing my eyes and picturing my mother standing in the sunlight in one of her floral sundresses, smiling wide with her arms stretched open.
Gripping her cross in my free hand, I murmur the prayer she used to say with me every night.
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
And then I pull the trigger.
Two. One.
Die.