Chapter 23 #2
The second lock clicks open. The weight releases, and I grab the cable before it can zip across the lift bar. “Grab hold of the beam above you,” I shout to London.
With her wrists freed, she grasps ahold of the lift arm and clings to the steel beam.
I fill my lungs, taking a full breath as I move to the last lock. The key slips out of my hand, slippery from my blood, and I curse. The gears on the lift grind, and I look up to see it drop another few inches.
Her toes hit the solution. London’s pained cry is muffled, but the agony of it slices through my chest more painfully than a million razors.
She pulls her knees toward her waist, keeping away from the solution. But she’s in pain. She’s getting weak.
“Hold on—” The final lock springs open.
I race across the garage and scale a large shipping container to reach the lift. “I’m here.” Seating myself on the edge of the beam, I grab hold of London’s arms and help her wrap them around my neck. She’s trembling as I bring her to my chest.
I work the wire rope free from around her waist. Then I tell her to keep an arm around me as I guide her across the machine and onto the container. I glance around the shop, seeking Nelson. He remains hidden.
I quickly inspect her feet. Only her toes suffered the solution, but she needs to treat and dress them.
London digs at the tape over her mouth and pries it off, leaving angry red skin behind. “This isn’t the whole trap—”
“I know.” As gently as I can, I ease the tape from her eyes. She winces at the sting. She blinks a few times to clear her vision. “Are you okay?”
She nods repeatedly, still shaky with adrenaline and her sweat-slicked, exposed skin. “I’ll be fine, but I need to get you to a doctor.”
At my confused expression, she palms my face between her trembling hands. “The razors—”
“Were tipped with aconite.”
Nelson stands at the base of the container, gun aimed up at us. I pull London behind my back.
“That’s amazing,” Nelson says. “A selfless, heroic psychopathic killer. I believe that’s an oxymoron.”
I can feel it now—the poison coursing through my system.
A clamminess blankets my skin. Spikes of cold and hot prickle my body; nerve endings misfiring. My muscles twitch, spasms starting to set in. Nausea will soon follow. Convulsions. Paralysis. Asphyxiation.
An excruciating death.
How long has it been since the first blade sliced my skin? Five…six minutes?
I don’t have much time.
I kneel before London. “Take the switchblade from my pocket.”
The panic gleaming in her eyes gives way to horror. “What?—I’m not—”
Nelson’s deep chuckle grates my already fraying nerves. “Oh, this is priceless. Just perfect.” He taps the barrel of the gun to his temple, as if he’s thinking. “Yes, London. You have to. A mercy kill to end his pain. You don’t want him to suffer an agonizing death.”
I swallow as I hold her gaze, resolute. “Put the blade to my throat, baby.”
“Grayson…” Her eyes seal shut. She knows this is the only way—but she’s fighting fate.
“Trust,” I whisper. I wet my lips, my mouth running dry.
Unsteady, she dips her head and places the softest kiss to my neck. She talks in a hushed tone, her swift words for my ears only. Then her hand slips into my front pocket and grasps my newest switchblade.
“I underestimated you, Nelson,” I shout down to him, keeping my gaze trained on London’s beautiful face.
When I’m gone, he’ll either shoot her or submerge her in the solution, finishing the job. The scene will be set. It’s brilliant, really. London and I—accomplices, lovers—destroyed by our own maddening devices, our own hands.
Such a perfect fucking ending.
Maybe that’s where London and I made our first mistake. Believing we could bottle our perfect piece of heaven. Immortalize it. Exist only for each other.
Maybe we still can.
But the higher we climbed, drugged on each other, ruling over a damned world that bowed and trembled before the god-like monsters we’d become, the harder our fall.
We are perfection.
And we are the fear that lurks beneath it.
We feast on each other and exist only for the highs…and even now, as I kneel before my dark goddess and pray for her mercy, I regret nothing.
We truly were happy.
Maybe we still can be.
The razor-sharp edge of the knife presses into my throat and splits my skin, and I release a hiss through clenched teeth.
I search her golden eyes for the spark that tells me she’s ready.
Her eyes are wild, filled with loathing contempt, her chest heaving as glistening beads of sweat dot her smooth brow.
My beautiful angel of mercy, now my vengeful angel of death.
“Do it,” I command.
Her hand steadies, the cold steel a tantalizing tease to my heated flesh.
“Close your eyes, Grayson.” Her voice is throaty and raw, wrapping me in her cruel, loving embrace.
I push against the knife, drawing blood. “I want to see the satisfaction it brings you.”
Her delicate throat pulses with a strained swallow. I feel the force of it in mine, my thirst for her never quenched. Even now, as she grips the weapon with both hands and begins to drag the blade across my skin, I yearn to taste her one more time.
Death at my lover’s hand. The ultimate reward and punishment for our perfection.
I couldn’t ask for a more perfect ending.