24. Coen
Coen
Irise to my feet, June’s blood coated on my hands.
Rage, unlike anything I've ever felt, consumes me.
My world goes strictly into tunnel vision, the only thing on my mind is eliminating anyone and everything that could have been responsible for what happened.
Spotting a shiny and sharp object at the base of where June’s body lays, I snatch it off the ground and go to work, doing what I do best. I swing my arm, slicing one man’s throat immediately, more blood splattering and filling this hallway.
Screams let out, people scurry, but I have my sights set on my next target and they won’t get away.
The guy backs into the wall, dropping his gun and throwing his hands in the air. “Dude, it wasn’t me. I didn’t?—”
But I don’t care that it wasn’t him that shot June. It could have been, and for that alone, he must die.
I shove the dagger into his throat and yank it out. His eyes go wide and then he drops to the ground, clutching the spot that’s gushing red.
I pivot, not caring about the continued muffled screams.
An arm reaches for me, but I shrug it off.
I snatch the man’s discarded pistol and blast off two shots into another guy who looks a bit too guilty. One in the chest, another in the middle of his forehead.
“Who was it?” I scream. The voice sounds foreign and unfamiliar.
“Who shot her?” I scan the gun through the crowd.
Women duck and some drop to their knees, black tears streaking their cheeks.
Some men remain, a few of them using their bodies to shield their dates.
Others being cowards and hiding between their legs. Fucking pathetic.
I don’t give a fuck about any of them. They can all burn for all I care. There’s only one person in this house my heart beats for, and she’s currently bleeding out in Simon Beckett’s lap.
“Coen. Put the weapon down.” Winnie Sharp. “You’re making an already bad situation worse.”
I turn toward her voice. "Someone better tell me who shot her, or I will end every person in here until I'm certain they're dead." My head pounds and my heart thumps wildly, an overwhelming helplessness taking hold of me.
I’ve only just gotten her back and now I’m going to lose her again because of this dangerous world I never wanted her to get involved with.
This is the very reason I stayed away, because I never wanted her to get hurt.
I didn’t want this lifestyle to corrupt and damage her, let alone steal her from this earth prematurely.
June deserves far better than to die like this—in a room full of sadistic criminals who don’t give a shit about human decency.
They're only in it for the power, the lucrative paychecks, and lavish existences.
They don't get to live if June doesn't. None of us do.
And I will make sure not a single person makes it out alive if June dies here tonight.
I blast another shot off at a man standing nearby, his hand resting in a position to conceal the gun in his other. Did he think he could hide that from me? My senses are heightened, and despite his best effort, he never could have kept that from me.
His stupid frame thuds against the hardwood floor.
Winnie flashes her gaze past me, a tell she’s old and wise enough to know better than to give away.
I drop to my knees, turning and pointing my weapon behind me, firing off two shots into the chest of the man who approached me.
I quickly lower it and fire another round into his partners.
Dead bodies litter the floor and bring me back to a time when I was killing my way to freedom.
Or at least, that’s what I thought I was doing.
Little did I know, I was setting myself up for a lifetime of misery with each life I ended.
I killed with no mercy, finally collapsing onto the cold, hard concrete of that building, blood soaking through my clothes.
I’m uncertain how long I was there until Dominic had found me and told me that there was no going back.
I could either die or accept the role that was given to me.
I was too much of a coward to take the easy way out, essentially signing my soul away to be a murderous psychopath for the rest of time.
I left June in the past as my only means to keep her safe.
And look at her now. My efforts were wasted.
The infinite torture of leaving her had haunted me every day, but it’s nothing compared to the anguish I feel in this moment.
Knowing that I could have had her in my life this whole time eats away at my soul.
We lost time that we can never get back, and now I’m going to lose her for good because Dominic and Bryant couldn’t just leave her the fuck out of it.
I should fucking kill them, too, for bringing her into this mess despite being well aware of the danger it would put her in.
I allow myself too much time in my thoughts, faltering slightly when I catch something moving in my peripheral.
I don't react quick enough and the next thing I know, something blunt and hard smacks me in the side of the head, knocking my legs out from under me and dropping me like all the bodies I've destroyed tonight.
My eyelids slow and become heavier as I fight the urge to get back up and annihilate whoever managed to land a blow to take me down.
Despite my best efforts, my world goes black.
“You can’t fucking keep me here.” I pound my fist on the metal door. The sound echoes into the small room I’m being held in. There are no windows, just the one exit I must have been brought through after I was rendered unconscious.
How I’m still alive, that’s lost on me.
I should have been killed on the spot. I never should have lived past inflicting an ounce of pain on a single person in that house.
Those are the rules, and they’re pretty damn cut and dry.
And yet, here I am, having killed a half dozen people or so and living to tell the tale.
Although, considering my confinements, it's safe to say I won't be getting off easy.
They’d be doing me a favor if they followed through with protocol and ended my life, too.
The idea of living in a world without June is unbearable, something I’m not capable of doing.
It’s one thing to not be with someone but still exist on the same planet as them.
It’s shitty, that’s for sure, but it’s tolerable knowing they’re out there somewhere, potentially happy and healthy and safe.
But for her to be gone, no longer breathing the same, looking up at the same night sky, I cannot accept that reality. I’d rather be dead.
June isn’t just my first love, she’s my fucking soul mate.
She brings out the best and worst in me and never fails to make my heart beat a little harder and slower at the same time.
She’s a rare mix of daring and adventurous and manages to have a hidden softer side that she doesn’t show often.
She fools everyone into thinking she doesn’t care and isn’t bothered when in reality, she’s one of the kindest and most selfless people I’ve ever met.
I’ve personally witnessed her give her last dollar to a homeless person on numerous occasions.
One time she rummaged through what little clothes she did have to see what she could spare to an old lady who was living in the trees out behind a discount store.
Not many notice how she hates watching others suffer, and does what she can to help them, even if she doesn’t think it’s much.
And maybe that’s because she’s never really had anyone looking out for her.
Instead of allowing her hardships to make her bitter and cold, it’s formed this protectiveness over those she cares about that she keeps concealed.
June has changed over the years, there’s no doubt about that, but she’s still that same girl who pitied me for crying at my mother’s gravestone when we were kids.
I knew from that very first moment that June had claimed my heart for all of time.
We formed a bond over shared trauma and being misunderstood and I can’t imagine getting that close to someone ever again.
It’s been almost a decade and I’ve never once felt anything remotely similar to the spark I feel with June.
I thought it was gone forever until I saw her in that bar a few months ago, the flame reigniting and burning brighter than ever before.
I need answers, I need to know if she’s okay. If she made it. Or if the pit in my chest means that she really is gone forever.
I slam my fist against the door again and tug at the handle. “You’re making a mistake by keeping me here.” I run my fingers through my hair and let out an exasperated breath. Scanning the room, I search for any way out of this imprisonment.
A dingy twin mattress is pressed up along one wall and a bucket sits on the opposite. There is no toilet or sink, and the bed doesn’t even have a pillow, just a ratty excuse of a blanket balled up in its center.
I glance down at my body, the tailored suit that Dominic had custom made still clings to my body, although now it’s speckled with the dried remains of those I killed. The crusty dark red coats my hands, too, and no doubt if there was a mirror, I’d find some on my face.
Some of this is June’s blood. My sweet, tortured girl.
“Focus, Co. You can do this.” I tell myself while trying to gain control over my unruly emotions. “Everything has a weakness. Find this one.”
I shove my hands into my pockets, turning them inside out and coming up empty.
They rid me of my wallet and phone, which is no surprise at all.
I pat all my hidden compartments, each one of them empty.
Whoever stripped me of my belongings was thorough, and for that, it makes me want to add another person to my hit list. Anyone who stands in the way of me getting to June must die.