Chapter 30 Light Breaks
A sharp pain stabs between my ribs when she scrambles away from me, clutching the comforter tightly against her chest.
Her face pales as betrayal rips through her features.
“You’re Reaper? And Ghostface?” she whispers, as if she can’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. She shakes her head, her eyes darting to the ugly scar on my chest, then back to my face. “All this time? It was you all along?”
I don’t answer her.
Deep down, I knew she’d learn the whole truth when I visited her tonight. A wise man would’ve stayed away. She was safe. Reaper was gone from her life. She knew I was part of the Triads. That should’ve been enough.
But how could I stay away, knowing she was terrified and alone in an unfamiliar apartment after she nearly got killed?
And I couldn’t keep lying to her.
I borrowed her dead fiancé’s heart. I won’t steal hers too.
My Aria’s not dumb. And from the tears now pooling under her eyes and the deranged laughter tearing from her lips, she’s probably suspected something was off for a while.
“I’m so stupid. They should take away my license for being so pathetic.” Scrambling off the bed, she hisses when she stubs her toe. Her hands fumble with the sheets around her body before giving up and tossing them at her feet.
“Fuck it! You’ve seen it all, anyway!” She stalks to the bathroom without a stitch of clothing on.
Moments later, she charges back with a big T-shirt on—my shirt, the one I tore off my body when I was kissing her, when I was engulfed in desire.
She looks so good in my shirt. So mine.
Not yours anymore.
I close my eyes, ready to take whatever violence she wants to inflict.
God knows I deserve it.
“So what is this, Ren?” she says my name like a curse. “What story are you going to spin for me this time? Do you have another hidden identity out there? Or heaven forbid, some other fucking woman you’re lying your ass off to? Is this mute thing a disguise for you?”
Another bitter laugh scrapes from her throat.
“Poor Aria, right? Her fiancé died. But oh, she has a special key she fucking doesn’t have.” She jabs my chest, right on top of my aching scar. “Let’s get close to her, infiltrate her poor little life, befriend her online, make her rely on you, like you, need you—”
“Aria, stop—”
“Don’t tell me to stop!” She shoves me hard, her bloodshot eyes filled with pain. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. Not now.”
Aria curls her hand into a fist and slams it under my rib cage.
Pain spirals from the hit, robbing me of breath.
“I hate you!” She alternates between jabs and shoves. “I hate you so much.”
Her words are venom, and I let every drop seep in, even as my insides writhe in agony.
Despite the torture, I remain still and absorb her hits. Even if I could take all her anger, her pain, it still wouldn’t be enough.
Tears stream down her face, and I hate myself for hurting her. I should’ve stayed away.
I caused unspeakable pain to the one woman I’d kill to keep safe.
And I realize…I can never keep her safe because I’m Si Shen.
Death follows me. I am its slave.
The biggest gift I can give her is to make her hate me. So she’ll leave me.
And live.
“What do you have to say for yourself, Ren? I want the truth. No more lies. I want the whole fucking truth!” Her shouts morph into sobs as her knees buckle, hitting the carpeted floor with a thump.
Quickly, I swing off the bed, hands reaching for her, but she bats them away.
“No! I want nothing from you other than the truth.” Slowly, she lifts her face, her broken, tawny eyes meeting mine. “Please…I deserve the truth. Please.”
Aria then drags her gaze away, like she hates the tremble in her voice.
But she isn’t weak. Far from it. She’s the bravest woman I’ve ever seen—looking her enemy in the eye while bloodied and battered, still asking for the truth even though it hurts, even though she’s better off not knowing.
“If I could take away all of your pain in a heartbeat, I would.” My voice comes out hoarse, flayed raw. “The truth…it’s uglier than you can imagine.”
“I’ve seen the worst in mankind.” She chuckles, hollowed and cold. “Try me.”
I did this to her. Took advantage of her spark, her light, and left behind wreckage.
Slowly, I drag my gaze up, past her knotted fingers, her body swallowed by my white T-shirt, her flushed cheeks, reddened eyes, and mussed hair—she’s a goddess I lied to, stole from, bargained with the remaining beats of my heart.
In the darkness, in those forbidden moments, she was mine. And that may be the cruelest part of all.
And now, I’m going to break what’s left of her.
No softening. No mercy.
“I killed Blake.”
Over a Year Ago, Chicago Memorial Hospital, Surgical Floor
Screams deafen my eardrums as I skid through the double doors toward the gunfire. Elias is in danger, and I need to save him. His damn revenge plan blew up in his face. My heart spasms as a fresh wave of nausea rolls through me. I clutch my chest, powering through the pain.
No time for this. My sick heart can give out after this.
Staff and visitors cower on the floor. Alarms blare, chaos ensues. My boots streak blood across the white tiles as I slam into the wall, desperate to get to Elias.
Don’t let me be too late.
A wall of flames greets me, and black smoke curls up the vents.
More shots erupt, followed by a scuffle.
A feminine cry ripples through the noise.
Lana.
Why the hell is she here? She wasn’t part of the plan.
Holding out my gun, I careen into the room where the screams are coming from.
My heart jolts at the sight of Elias on his knees, bloodied and pale, barely upright. Then there’s the bastard, the damn Berisha holding a gun to Lana’s head.
With a roar, I charge toward them, ripping Lana from her captor.
Shots fire in rapid succession. I sock the asshole across his face, but he’s quick, too quick. He delivers hit after hit to my gut, knocking my gun out of my grip.
Taking advantage of my distraction, he shoves me hard, jamming in a right hook, then a left. His murderous eyes meet mine as he pushes me onto a cart in the hallway. My temple slams into the metal edge, and pain explodes across my skull.
More shots fire from behind me as my vision swirls. I glance back just in time to see the damn Berisha lying lifeless on the floor.
A sudden, sharp stabbing throbs behind my sternum. I clutch my shirt, my palm coming away wet with crimson.
The bastard shot me in the chaos.
My legs give out, and I crumple to the floor. Agony cleaves my heart in half. Then a chill settles into my bones.
This is it. The world slows to bellows and pulses. I’m dying like Mom did. My broken heart has finally had enough. A strange warmth fills my veins as the pain drifts and fades.
It’s not that bad, dying. It’s hell I’m worried about.
Smoke fills my lungs, stifling the remaining oxygen sustaining my consciousness.
But then a movement catches the corner of my dimming vision.
The familiar streak of blond hair and tired blue eyes. Sky-blue scrubs streaked with bloodstains, hands still gloved.
Blake Amscot. Walking straight from surgery into terror.
My mind flashes to the encrypted summons I received this morning.
New target: Blake Amscot, Cardiothoracic Surgeon.
Location: Chicago Memorial, Surgical Floor at 10 a.m.
Method: Shoot him in the chest. Make it look like an accident.
I froze when I saw Cornelius’s message.
Bright images then barreled into my mind.
An impish woman who loved books and scary movies. The same woman I saw munching a cookie downstairs before the lockdown code shrieked through the speakers. The effervescent woman who smiled at sunflowers from her fiancé even though he should’ve gotten her Queen of the Night tulips.
Her favorite.
But now I think of my younger sister.
Hands shaking, I roll over with the last of my strength and lift my gun.
After I’m gone, Celia will be alone, at the mercy of the Kongs. If I follow orders, they’d know I tried my damned best until my heart stopped. They’d take pity on her and keep her safe, even if she didn’t hold value to them anymore.
They’d find her a suitable heart.
I wheeze, obliterating pain rippling across my body like someone rammed a metal rod straight into my chest multiple times.
“Blake,” I holler. “Dr. Amscot.”
The surgeon stops mid-stride, turning to me, giving me the perfect view of his chest. He shoves a nurse behind him—gallant to the bitter end.
In a war zone, that’s enough to kill a man.
Now. Do it now. Center chest. A little to the right. Aortic rupture. Painless for him.
Blake’s eyes widen as he stares at the barrel of my gun.
My grip falters. I press the trigger.
Then I think of that damn smile.
“I like to matchmake people with books, and you’re a puzzle.”
That beautiful, blinding smile.
I can’t take that smile away from her.
Bang!
At the last second, I turn my gun, but it still goes off.
The acrid stench of gunpowder floods my nose. Metal shrieks as the bullet slams and ricochets off the side.
The hallway tilts. My vision winks. The gun slips from my hand and clatters to the floor. Sprinklers kick on, baptizing the hellscape of death and destruction.
A thud reaches my ears. More shouting. Feet pounding.
“Dr. Amscot got hit!” someone screams. “Help! He’s bleeding out.”
No. I turned the shot. I know I turned it.
But in a corridor full of smoke, gunfire, and panic, turning it wasn’t enough.
Then darkness claims me.
Present
“I told myself all my marks were dirty. After all, the innocent would never associate with the Kongs,” Ren says, his voice monotonous, like he’s reciting a recipe. “So he must be dirty. Blake. And even though I turned the shot at the last moment, he obviously still died.”
How did I miss this? This cold, flat lethality? The way he can speak of killing without blinking.
But his jaw won’t stop twitching.
“My bullet, someone else’s bullet—does it matter? Blake’s dead because I stopped him in the middle of a war zone. I was supposed to kill him. I almost did, and I wouldn’t lose sleep over it. That’s who I am. An assassin who follows orders.”
His confession hammers in my ears.
A sound leaves him, too jagged to be a laugh.
“You were a job, Aria. The key is real. The Kongs asked me to retrieve it from you.” He turns his stare on me, and for one awful second, all warmth drains from his face. Or it was never there to begin with. “Then kill you. That’s what I’m good at. First Blake…then you. But I failed.”
His words roar in my ears, my mind trying but failing to process them.
“And worse yet?” A biting huff escapes his lips, and he sees what must be incredulity on my face because he adds, “Yes, Aria. There’s more.”
His long fingers—a killer’s fingers—tremble as he places them over his scar.
Everything inside me freezes.
My head is shaking before I realize what I’m doing.
No.
I back away, but my feet refuse to work.
“No,” I whisper, watching as he clutches his scar, below which hides his borrowed heart.
Someone else’s heart.
As quick as lightning, Ren reaches me and grabs my icy hand, bringing it flush against his chest.
His warm chest.
And the heart thudding strongly beneath his skin.
Tears cloud my vision, blurring the anguish flashing across Ren’s eyes, so quick I almost think I imagined it.
And then I feel it.
The steady ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
This is why Ren looked so pained the night I touched his chest in Arcana & Bloom. Why I always sensed guilt lurking beneath the surface.
“You got Blake’s heart.” I hold my breath, wishing he’d tell me I was out of my mind, that anger had made a fool out of me.
But he doesn’t.
I always wished I knew where Blake’s organs went. If his retinas went to a young man on the cusp of adulthood, if his kidneys went to someone with a hereditary disease.
If his heart—his beautiful, giving heart—went to someone kind. Someone deserving.
“I’m sorry, Aria.”
At his three words, my stomach heaves. I collapse in front of him and sob into the carpet.
Images of Blake flash behind my eyes. Him groaning when I drag him clubbing. How he’d remind me to bring an umbrella when the sky was gloomy because I should be prepared for rain. Him ruffling my hair when he helped me study for my exams.
Then the images morph and twist into something else.
Ren offering me popcorn in the theater. Ghostface bickering about Jane Austen. Reaper teasing me while taking my knight in chess. The dark kisses and passionate embraces. The dangerous twirls on the rooftop with nothing but moonlight as our witness.
Memories. From two men sharing the same heart. All corrupted.
What’s real. What’s not. I don’t know anymore.
A shadow falls over me, followed by the familiar heat of his frame.
“Aria, please—”
He touches me. Clamps his fingers on my shoulder.
I jolt back, every inch of me scorching hot. Flaying from the inside out.
I point at the door and lift my gaze.
A muscle jumps in his jaw, but his eyes are no longer cold.
Too late. I don’t care. Not anymore.
“Either you go or I leave,” I whisper, an eerie calmness settling over me. “I never want to see you again.”
A pained grunt slips from him.
The next moments condense into fragments—abrasive and cutting.
I remember very little.
A rustle of clothes. Thudding of footsteps.
The familiar presence.
I should’ve known.
You did. You just refused to admit it. Because he made you feel everything.
Even things you’d never felt before with Blake.
“Hate me, Aria. Never forgive me. I deserve it.”
His words echo in my mind. Then the door clicks.
And silence.
Devastating silence.