11. Ryder
My mind is in a haze. Everything hurts.
I can see her. Michaela. Her raven hair is skewed across the pillow, and a needle is still in her vein. Overdose.
I feel the weight of Cap’s palm hit my shoulder, and he gives a comforting squeeze, but I’m numb. He hangs his head, not knowing what to say. There is nothing to say. The lamp on the nightstand is tipped over. Several small bags line its surface. A prominent green stamp lets me know where they came from.
My teeth clench as I try to contain my rage. Declan Sullivan. He did this.
The sound of my father’s footsteps retreats, but I can’t take my eyes off her. My feet are planted on the filthy carpet of the seedy motel room.
I reach out to feel her cheek. Her skin is still warm. We were too late, but only by minutes. I should be chasing after him. I should peel his skin from his muscles just to hear his screams of agony before shooting him up with the poison he gave to my sweet Michaela.
I know Cap is calling this in right now and the cops we keep on payroll will have this swept under the rug. His words fade around me as a steady beep grows louder between my ears. I can’t let anyone know I was here. I’ll be the likeliest suspect.
Beep.
But he will pay. I will make him pay.
Beep.