Chapter 50
REED
My heart dissolves in my chest as I watch Bailey go. I’ve destroyed her.
Exactly like I’ve destroyed myself.
I’m sorry, Bailey. I’m so fucking sorry.
The words snap through my head like a wall of dust—hot and worthless.
Sorry won’t fix everything I’ve broken. Sorry won’t heal all the women I’ve shattered.
Sorry won’t bring Evelyn back to life or resurrect Bailey’s family.
Nothing will. And nothing I do can ever change that.
But there is still something I can give her.
Zane Jenson planned to hurt her. I’m certain of that. And I can make sure it never happens.
I turn toward him—and I freeze.
Because Zane is no longer lying unconscious behind me. He’s pushing to his feet instead, the ropes around his wrists and ankles severed.
How?
My eyes track behind him toward an open pocketknife lying on the floor, the handle smeared with red.
In my rush, I didn’t think to pat him down, didn’t search his pockets.
His damaged hand hangs by his side, the stubs of his fingers dripping blood like a leaking faucet. And in his other hand is a gun.
I move for mine.
“Don’t,” he says, as I shift forward. His voice is like iron.
The same voice the masked man used during Bailey’s staged abduction.
I return my gaze to his. His eyes are those of Officer Gunn’s, brown, not blue.
But they carry a new emotion compared to the last time they looked at me: Hate.
I can feel it radiating off of him like a furnace. This man hates me now.
“Where’s my son?” he asks.
Lies surge up my throat in rapid succession: Outside in the van. Gone, he took off. Injured, but he’s okay. He’s at the hospital. You can find him there. Even now—after everything—the lies come so naturally. So freely. But I won’t let them. At this point, I’ve told enough lies to fill an ocean.
“Dead,” I say.
A cord ripples in his neck. “How? I saw him shoot you.”
I press my fist to my chest. “I wore a vest.”
“And then you shot him.”
“Yes.”
Zane winces, the statement a slap to his face. He takes in a slow breath then exhales in a slow hiss through his teeth. “I should have taken you out at the quarry when I had the chance.” He shakes his head, his face paling as it ropes into a snarl.
“Why didn’t you?” I ask, after a second.
“Because this—” he stabs the gun at me “—doing all of this to you is what she wanted. And I owed that to her after everything she’s been through. After what you put her through.”
Her, I think. Bailey.
“Why?” I ask. “So you could feel better about betraying her?”
His eyebrows slant down, and he takes a single step forward, the gun wavering dangerously in his hand.
“You of all people dare to judge me? Fuck you! You have no idea what kind of hell I’ve had to endure, you selfish prick!
You’ll never know!” His eyes dust red and he shakes his head.
“I did all of this to save her. All of it! And I still failed.”
Her—but this time I know he isn’t referencing Bailey. The anguish splashed over his face as he says it is too raw for that, the pain too real. He’s talking about his daughter. I don’t respond. Anything I say right now is likely to get me killed.
You’re dead already.
It’s true. It’s just a matter of time. Still, I don’t speak.
I simply stand there and wait for Zane to continue.
When he does, it’s in a mutter, his face cycling through a storm of emotions: An angry flare of his nose.
A quick flash of his teeth. A painful downturn of his lips. I realize he’s no longer talking to me.
“He shouldn’t have been there. I shouldn’t have put him in that situation.”
He’s talking to himself.
“I failed him. I failed them both.”
Go, I think. Move.
I’m about to, but his gaze snaps to mine as if reading my mind. “Don’t even think about it.”
I raise my hands.
His lips tremble. The gun wobbles. His complexion has faded to a pale, sickly yellow I know isn’t just from the blood loss but also from what I’ve done to his son. He looks so bad, I don’t know how he’s still able to stand.
“This is all your fault.” He jabs the gun toward the open door through which Bailey fled moments earlier. “She was Cora’s last chance.”
And mine, I can’t help but think, bitterly.
He continues to stare at me, and his eyes clear. He raises his chin.
“Live or die?”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“It’s a simple question. Do you want to live, or do you want to die?”
His words slam into me with a terrible weight. Do I? After everything I’ve done, after everything I’ve taken and lost, what’s the point?
“Live or die!” he growls again.
It should be so clear, but even now I don’t know the answer.
But I do know what I deserve.
“Kill me,” I say.
He appraises me for a long moment before the corners of his lips curl into a sad grin. There’s no light in his eyes, no relief at my answer. All I see are two empty black holes leading to a bottomless pit of despair.
My heart thuds as he draws the gun from my chest and levels it at my head. His grip on the weapon tightens, his knuckles blanching white. He blinks, and a single tear slides over his cheek. “If that’s really what you want, you’ll have to do it yourself.”
And then he brings the gun to his temple—and pulls the trigger.