Chapter Fifty
CHAPTER FIFTY
ANGEL
Gregory Rosten.
Even with my eyes closed and the noises coming from my mouth, those two words are still louder and shine brighter than anything else. They can’t be real, but I’m too scared to open my eyes and look again.
I hear Dominic calling my name, but it sounds so far away—like he’s in a tunnel and I’m in another tunnel and there are too many rocks in between to ever get to him. I try, because I need him. Even as scared as he makes me, I need him to tell me I don’t ever have to count again. I need him to save me from the pennies. I need to kiss the cross on his hand because he’s the Angel of Death.
I try, but I fail.
And as I fail, I slip into that locked place in my mind. The one where Alexandra waits for me with her hand out and a soft smile.
It’s time.
I stop trying to break down the rocks and walk deeper into the tunnel.
My own sickness coats my cheek as I tighten my grip on the desk. Yet it’s not the desk. It’s cold and thin. It fits in my hand, and it moves. Yes. It moves. No more bad man. No more pain.
“Hold still, you little bitch!”
“Not yours!” I scream, my voice breaking. “Not yours! His! I’m his! You can’t have it!” With every word, I fight. With every word, I battle to keep my promise. “I’m his! Not yours! His! His! His!” My arm hurts, and I can’t breathe. Oh God, I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe?
A soft voice whispers in my ear, “It’s over.”
She’s here, so I listen. I stop yelling and stop fighting, but I still can’t breathe.
Slowly, I open my eyes to see Rosten still on top of me, but he’s not hurting me anymore. He’s not saying ugly things to me anymore. He’s not moving anymore.
I can’t breathe because he’s lying on top of me.
“Get off,” I wheeze. “Get off! Get off! Get off!” He doesn’t. I wiggle and squirm and push until there’s enough space for me to crawl out from underneath him.
Why am I so sticky?
Then I remember what he did to me, and shame burns my cheeks. Oh no. Tears flood my eyes. I’m not Dominic’s anymore. He took what belonged to Dominic and left his stain.
Heartbroken, I reach down to pull up my jeans when I realize my legs are red. My face flames hotter and the tears fall harder. Then I see my shirt. And my arms. And my hands.
All red.
The voice whispers again, “Run. ”
I nod because she’s always right. Reaching for my jeans again, I try to pull them up, but I can’t. There’s something in my hand. I open my palm and stare down at a long, silver letter opener. It’s covered in sticky red, and it smells like pennies.
Sticky red drips off my hand and onto the floor.
Another whisper. “Run.”
I can’t listen to her because my heart is thump-thump-thumping in my ears. Slowly, I turn my head toward the desk. The same red, sticky stuff that’s on my hands drips off the side.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Rosten is lying on his stomach quiet and still. He’s red and sticky, too. Everything smells like pennies. My jeans are still around my knees as I shuffle toward him, my Chucks squeaking on the messy floor.
“Rosten?” Please don’t answer. I move a little closer. And that’s close enough to see them.
Holes. Lots of holes.
In his neck. In his face. In his back.
Everywhere.
Sticky red oozing out of each one.
I shake, the metal in my hand growing heavy. I look down at the pointy sharp end. Just sharp enough to make lots of holes.
The letter opener hits the floor with a clang as I shake even more. I can’t breathe again. Everything hurts. I want it off me, but I have to leave.
She’s right.
Run .
I quickly pull up my jeans and fumble with the button. I don’t know what makes me pick up the letter opener, but I do. I hold it tightly in my hand, shoving most of it under my sleeve.
Dominic will know what to do.
I have to find Dominic.
But just as I step into the lobby, the elevator dings, and the doors part.
Leaving the confines of the tunnel, I hear Dominic’s hoarse voice against my ear. “I’m so sorry. Come back to me. Please.” The dark room shifts back into focus as the sights and sounds of Rosten’s office fade away.
I’m on the floor of the bedroom, wrapped in Dominic’s arms. His hold is fierce, but I don’t say anything because his chest is rattling. I’ve never heard him make this sound before; I put my ear against his heart, and it rattles even louder.
“The name engraved on the letter opener is Gregory Rosten,” I say. “I remember now. I remember everything.”
He swallows hard. “I know.”
No, he doesn’t. “Dominic, he—”
He shakes his head. “I meant I know everything, rook. I know what you did, and why you did it. I know what that man did to you as a child and God knows how many others.” I feel his muscles tense. “If I could raise him from the dead and kill him myself, I would.”
“I saw Luciano there.” I look up at his face, and he doesn’t seem surprised. “What did he do with him?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
I don’t think I do, either. There are enough bad things in my head. Knowing Greg Rosten’s final resting place doesn’t need to be one of them. It’s bad enough I know where they found Violet …
I stiffen, harsh, ugly words coming back to me.
“What did you do to her?”
“I didn’t do anything. It’s what you did to her. Or don’t you remember? How easily the young mind molds…and breaks.”
“Did I kill Violet?” I ask quietly.
Moments pass as his hand strokes my hair. “No.”
“But Rosten said—”
“Rosten was trying to get inside your head. He always has.”
“But why would he hurt her?”
His hand stills in my hair. “He was watching.”
Confused, I turn around and look up at him. “What?”
Dominic closes his eyes, a hard look passing over his beautiful face. “He called me by name when I walked in, but his back was turned. He watched us from the window. Jesus Christ, he knew we were fighting.”
I don’t know what that means, yet I let that part stay locked up in Dominic’s head. As long as I know I didn’t hurt my friend, that’s enough for me.
But not for Dominic. When he looks down at me, those beautiful, icy blue eyes I love so much fill with pain. “It’s time you learned the truth. The whole truth. Everything.”
Holding me in my arms, he tells me everything. Every word out of Luciano Ricci’s mouth. He tells me about why Luciano gave him the assignment. He tells me how he failed to protect my siblings. He tells me how he followed us to Phoenix then took me to a Vitoli-funded group home. He tells me how Luciano searched for me when I ran away, only finding me when Dominic exposed Paulo Bellini. He tells me that man was the one who intercepted the DNA sample.
I listen quietly, not saying a word until he finishes. Then I ask the one question he didn’t offer. The one truth I need to know. “Who ordered the hit? ”
“Rosten.”
“Why?”
He winces but doesn’t hold back. “Rubio and I found buried molestation charges against him.”
I raise an eyebrow at the name but don’t question him. “Why were they buried?”
For the next few minutes I clench my hands together as he tells me about his meeting with Rubio and everything they found out. Every ugly detail about my father’s attempts to bring my abuser down and how the system failed us.
It takes me three times to find my voice. “So, Rosten ordered my family’s murders to make sure the world never knew he liked to fuck little girls?” My heart pounds and my pulse races as I leap to my feet.
“Rook…”
“All this is because my mother was a narcissistic bitch? I can’t remember eight years of my life because her fame was more important than her own daughter?” Everything starts to spin, and I grab handfuls of my own hair, tugging at my scalp. “I have all these noises and dreams and scratches inside my head because my own mother bartered me like a fuck doll?”
When I open my eyes, Dominic is on his feet beside me. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ll help you.”
“It’s too late for that!” I scream. “Don’t you see that? Everyone’s voice is in there. It’s not just Alexandra’s. It’s my mother’s, too. I hear her, Dominic. I hear Rosten’s breath in my ear. It never goes away. Nothing is ever quiet. There’s always noise, and I’m so tired!” And dizzy. So dizzy that I lean forward and collapse against his chest.
His voice sounds broken as he holds me. “Christ, rook…”
“I don’t know who I am anymore,” I cry into his chest. “There are two sides of me constantly at war. One of them will eventually win. I’m scared to lose me, Dominic. Me. Angel Smith. Alexandra is stronger. She’s louder. She’s just so loud.”
And that’s my fear. What I’ve run from for weeks, months, maybe forever. This is her life. This is her body. It always has been. Me? Angel Smith? I’m just a placeholder. An actress playing a role. I’m not real. I’m a broken fragment of Alexandra’s mind. Her shield in the storm, and the barrier to her pain. But the storm is over, and the barrier is down, so there’s no use for me anymore. Like a toy left behind as a child grows up, I’ve served my purpose.
She’s going to take back what’s hers.
And what’s mine.
Dominic’s arms wrap around me tighter than ever. It’s almost as if he can feel the tether thinning. His lips press against the top of my head, his rough exhale blowing my hair. When he speaks, I hear the raw pain in his voice. “It’s okay to let go. You’re tired, rook. You fought hard so Alexandra didn’t have to. You protected her, and if you need to rest, then rest.”
I let the tears flow. “Who’ll protect Alexandra then?”
“I will.”
I close my eyes. “I’m scared.”
“I know you are. I am, too. But I didn’t let anyone hurt her fifteen years ago, and I’m not going to let anyone hurt you now.”
I believe him.
“I love you.” The words fall out of my mouth, and he stiffens in response. Maybe he doesn’t want to hear them, but I don’t care. This might be my only chance, and I’m not wasting it. “I want you to know that in case Alexandra never tells you. Because I do. And it has nothing to do with what you did for her. I fell in love with you in a stupid bar in Chula Vista. ”
Dominic pulls away. “I love you too, rook. You —Angel Smith. My stubborn pain in the ass.” I can’t help but smile, and he returns it. “I always will,” he adds.
I believe that, too.
I glance down. “What happens now?”
“I don’t know,” he says, and I hear the fatigue in his voice. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
“Dominic?” The question in my tone makes him draw his head back and stare at me. I almost chicken out, but I can’t. Not now. Swallowing my fear, I look up at him. “Make love to me.”
His nostrils flare at my words. “What?”
I sit up, my conviction stronger. “If you love me, show me. Take everything else away. Because if there’s never another chance, I want that to be the last thing between us.”
I stare in his eyes, silently pleading with him to see how serious I am and how much I need this. I need his warmth and his skin against mine. I need him.
Dominic’s eyes change from pale blue to hooded and dark. Scooping me in his arms, he walks us both to the bed where he places me gently onto the mattress. There are no rough hands, or dirty words, or frantic kisses this time. He takes off my clothes slowly, looking into my eyes as if asking permission before each touch.
It makes me love him even more.
I nod, watching as he peels off his clothes, and, bracing his weight on his forearms, he meets my mouth in a gentle kiss. We touch each other, fanning the flame between us with love and explosive desire. Dominic groans my name, his face pulled in a painful grimace.
“Look at me,” I whisper, and when he does, I nod again, giving him permission. Giving him everything. “Make me yours. ”
Restraining his usual force, he enters me so slowly, I moan. When he’s fully embedded, he pauses, kissing the tip of my nose before creating a rhythm that’s all ours.
Forever.
And Alexandra lets us have this moment, turning off the voices and the static and the scratching. For once, there’s nothing in my head but peace.
Leaving the parlor behind, I walk steady steps toward the back entrance of the estate near the rear staircase. I touch the walls, the mirrors, and the vases. So much is the same while so much is different.
I’m different.
Once I reach the back door, I turn my back to it and pause for a moment before walking diagonally to the right. There I stand, gazing out at the scene before me as I finish what they started.
“One,” I say.
Crossing the floor, I move toward the rear spiral staircase and stop to glance at the floor. “Two.”
I take six steps up and stop again. “Three.”
Three more steps. “Four.”
One step. “Five.”
Slowly, I make my way back down the staircase and across the room to another staircase. One by one, I climb each step until I reach the top.
The east wing.
Passing each door, I stop at the only one that’s important, turning the doorknob and walking inside only three steps. “Six,” I whisper. Then, I turn toward the corner where a dresser and bed once stood and shake my head. “You were never six, little one. I made sure of it.”
When all have been accounted for, I leave the east wing for the final time. The past has finally been laid to rest, and the truth heard.
I’m free.
Making my way back to the bedroom, I watch him sleep. He’s so beautiful. Beautifully bitter just like he was when he saved me.
My Angel of Death.
He destroyed me to save me. He doesn’t understand. He never has.
He created Angel Smith. Because of him I spread my wings and flew into the sun. The place I’ve been ever since.
But before I went, I made a promise to myself to find him again in another life. This beautiful, bitter boy with long black hair and sad eyes. And when I did, his pain would be mine. His heart would beat for me. I’d set him free.
The first time I kissed an angel, I died.
Leaning over the bed, I brush my lips softly over his cheek as my finger curls around the trigger.
The second time, he did.