Chapter 51
Scarlett
There’s one last thing you need to know…
After the hair-raising things I’ve learned about Cormac so far, I should be terrified. But no, not even a little. I can handle anything. I’m in control now.
Both of us dressed, and with his hand in mine, we go into the hallway. I think he’s going to bring me back into his son’s room. But he pivots, and we’re standing in front of a double closet that I hadn’t even noticed before.
“This is where we could end,” he says quietly. “Where you could finally walk away.”
Throat dry, it seems unfathomable for me to leave him. Not after everything we’ve been through. Everything he faced to be with me.
Brows furrowed, I say, “Do you have a dead body in there, Cormac?”
“Close,” he says, dead serious.
I feel myself stepping back. “What?”
“Steady, baby.” He uses a key and unlocks the deadbolt on the bottom, then a second one at the top. The door swings open, but there’s a black curtain and a panel fastened to the inside of the door that’s flashing and requires a code, which Cormac enters.
Past the curtain are custom-sized shelves and cubbies. All filled. There are two tactical vests, sleek black cases I’ve seen used to hold guns, and neatly coiled cords. Trauma shears, gloves, holsters, silencers, and a box of matte black N95 masks.
On a shelf that’s level to my chest, there’s a black velvet tray with molded inserts for…
Syringes. Sleek, glass, custom, impossible to mistake. The kind those agents had with them that day they came to Cormac’s class months ago to provide a briefing.
My stomach drops.
“Cormac…” I go breathless. “Are you—”
“Wait…” He brings me into the living room to sit me down on a chair. “Yes.” He doesn’t rush or soften the blow. “I’m the Hot-Shot Killer.”
I close my eyes, waiting for something after that. An apology, more confessions.
Nothing comes.
“But…” My voice pops out thinner than I want. “Why?”
“No one else was stopping them. I did.”
That’s it. Cold. No remorse.
I stare at my husband, trying to reconcile the man in front of me with the one I thought I knew. “Who were they? The victims.”
“Before they were victims, they were drug dealers.” Cormac paces back and forth.
“The FBI didn’t tell you and the other students the whole story.
Hot-Shot’s victims were repeat offenders that their own justice system couldn’t punish properly.
They slipped through the cracks. Good lawyers outmaneuvered bad judges. Cases went round and round.”
My stomach twists at how the FBI left out that part. Their failure to prosecute these criminals and call them victims is astonishing. I had no idea they were drug dealers. The Feds seemed more invested in hunting Cormac like he was the monster.
Never the men he killed.
“Their goals are to get people addicted, to ruin their lives so they can profit from it,” he continues.
“I never killed an innocent man. I didn’t profit.
Didn’t enjoy it. Okay, a little. Well, I didn’t enjoy taking their life, but I did enjoy walking away from them knowing they’d never hurt anyone again. ”
I drag in a breath, something sharp forming in my chest.
“You were getting even,” I say. “For what happened to you. Your addiction.”
“I wish it was something loftier and less selfish,” he says. “But yeah. That’s part of it.”
“Where did you get the drugs?”
“My contact is someone who helped me, but he couldn’t save his own daughter.
She overdosed, and he tried to get justice.
But the dealer kept slipping through the cracks.
He tracked down the guy, gave me a vial, and I killed him.
It was supposed to be a one-time thing. But it was too easy, so we did it again.
And again.” Cormac shoves a hand through his hair.
“The guy who came to the school,” I whisper.
“He’s a toxicologist in a hospital and identified the kind of fatal drugs being sold and tracks down who the dealers are.
I’m the executioner.” He stares at his hands.
“But no more. I’m done. I can’t do this and be a father.
Or a husband. I can’t risk making a mistake and putting you in danger if the whole reason for our marriage was to keep you safe from Pierce in the first place. ”
“How… How many?”
He blinks. “Is that important?”
I shake my head. “I guess not.”
Cormac bends down to kiss me on the forehead. “I’ll give you a minute to process everything.”
His shadow disappears down one of the hallways before I can say anything. Yet I let him leave. He’s wondering if I can handle that I’m married to a murderer.
I wander to the balcony to get some fresh air. To breathe until something snaps into focus. Leave or stay. I love him. What he told me doesn’t change how I feel. But what if…
I stagger away and think about having a child with him.
But I don’t have to think about it. Ana and Darragh already have a child with him.
They know his past and his present. Ana put her son in that man’s arms with no hesitation.
Okay, she’s probably a murderer, too. But what about Darragh?
He’s the same as me. No, he’s the same as Cormac.
Which means if he were faced with what Cormac went through, he’d do the same thing.
If they can live with Cormac’s sins, so can I.
I turn away, the cold making my fingers numb, and look for my husband, who’s back at the closet. “Cormac, you can’t keep all this stuff if your son is going to be here with us.”
“Us?” He blinks. “You still want me?”
That part cracks something open in my chest, and I don’t answer right away.
“I promise. This is my very last secret.” He puts the key in my hand and says softly, “No more lies about where I’m going or what I’m doing. I’m done with this.”
I think of every time he slipped out in the middle of the night. I assumed it was to help the Quinlans. Saving or helping someone.
“You said this is where I can walk away…”
“You didn’t grow up in the mafia. Or the Bratva.” He leans against the wall, holding his chin, his eyes glassy. “I don’t expect you to accept that I’m a murderer.”
He risked telling me this, knowing I might leave him. All so there’d be no more secrets between us.
“Well, I’m not leaving,” I say, flatly. “Murder can be nuanced. Cops, military, ordinary people who are put into extraordinary situations and must take a life.”
“I will never hurt you,” Cormac says, choking up.
“Oh God, Cormac!” I push back into his arms. “I never thought for a moment you would.”
It’s ironic that Pierce, the picture-perfect doctor, cheated on me and hit me. And the doctor holding me right now killed people and would never raise a hand to hurt me.
We let our heartbeats settle, and he kisses me.
“What now?” I ask him, looking at all this…evidence.
After a squeeze, Cormac takes out his phone. “I’m officially ending this right now. You’re my wife, you deserved to know first.” Smiling, he brings up a number. “It’s me. You know why I’m calling. I’m sorry. I’m done.” Cormac stops to listen.
It’s only a mumbled voice on the other end.
“I appreciate that. See you soon.” He ends the call and stares at me. “He’s coming by to pick all of this up. It’s not safe for me to just dispose of it.” Worry crosses his features. “You don’t have to be here.”
“This is my home, I’m not leaving, I told you that.”
Cormac growls and kisses my forehead. “I’ll get some bins.”
With both of us wearing blue latex gloves, we start filling them.
I lose track of time when Cormac gets buzzed from the lobby. He shoots back the code. Nerves pool in my stomach about meeting a man whose daughter died from a drug overdose, and his grief was so potent, so thick, there was no other way for him to sleep at night.
A knock sounds out on the apartment door, and Cormac looks at me. “You can go into the bedroom if you don’t want this man’s face in your head. I don’t want to corrupt you.”
“I’m your wife. I stand with you.” I grip his hand, gloves now absent.
“Good girl.” He turns and struts to the door. I follow but choose to linger in the kitchen in case they want to have a private word first.
“What the fuck are they doing here?” Cormac spits, and my world turns upside down, thinking it’s the Feds.
His contact turned him in.
I eye that same steak knife Cormac used to slice my dress in half. Closing my fingers around the handle, I whisper, “They are not taking my husband.”