“I don’t want that,” I cut in, then swallow. “I… I can take it. I’ll get over it.”
Mave’s brows knit together as he looks at me. “That’s not how it works.”
I shift on my feet and avert my gaze from his. “Dorran doesn’t need therapy, and he’s killed more people than you and I can count.”
“You’re not him,” Mave argues. “And you never will be.”
“But I’m getting there, aren’t I?”
He places his hands on my shoulders and steps close to me. “Look at me.”
I grit my teeth and keep staring at the dumbbell on the lowest shelf. The rubber around its middle has peeled off a little, and is hanging loose, ready to be pulled off. My fingers itch to do just that, but I also don’t feel like moving my body.
“Nettie.”
I reluctantly meet Mave’s eyes. “What?”
He sighs. “You wanna tell me why you think you’re like Dorran?”
I lift a shoulder. “He killed his mom for what she did to him all those years ago, and tonight, I got close to doing the same. I was consumed by something unnamable, and I wonder if I’d justdoneitinstead of walking away…” I chuckle. “I think that’s the thing I can’t stop mulling over in my head the most.”
Something like surprise takes over his features. “Done what?”
“Killed my mom, Mave,” I say, then let go of a breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever said it out loud, or even thought about it consciously, but the idea has always been there, isn’t it? The desire, thewill.” I scoff and rub my hands over my face. “I want her dead, and I wanna do it with my own hands. I want her to beg me, to fall on her knees and just…beg.”
Mave cups the side of my face and tilts it upward. “Then you’ll be glad to know that your wish will be fulfilled tonight.”
I frown. “I don’t understand.”
“Dorran called me earlier and told me what’d happened, then asked me to track Miranda. She was hiding at the airport’s parking lot, waiting to leave for Paris for ameeting. We ended up finding her before she did, though, and fuck-face plans on killing her. It’s why you’re here; why we’re all here.”
I suck in a breath. “You have Mom?” A spark of something hot burns in my veins, and I suddenly don’t feel so numb.
Mave nods, then gestures behind him at the open hallway. “He’s in there with her. Go.”
I swallow and step away from him. “You’ll be here when I get back, right?” I ask.
Silver lines his expressive eyes. “Always, Nettie.”
I squeeze one of his hands, then head towards the hallway. It’s a wide piece of area behind a concrete wall, with nothing in or around it but a glass paneled door that leads to a dimly lit room, and an out-of-place leather couch Solo is sitting on, reading a Marvel comic.
“Ah, there you are,” he says when he sees me, then drops the comic on the couch before getting to his feet. “He’s in there,” he tells me, jerking his head towards the door. “And now that you’ll be joining him, I’ll be outside. I’ve got stuff to prepare.” He reaches me, touches one of my arms gently, then walks away.
Wow.
I make my way towards the door, and the closer I get to it, the more I can see what’s beyond it through the glass panel on its top half. Saws, knifes, hammers, belts, cleavers, and some needle-like rods. Goosebumps mar my entire body upon seeing how well each and every one of these items is lined; how easily accessible they must be to the person who wants to use them.
I reach close enough to the door that I can twist its knob if I want to, and look inside, only to gasp and place a hand over my mouth when I see Dorran, all but bathed in blood, crouched before a body. He’s got a kitchen axe in his right hand, and because his back is turned to me, I can’t exactly see what it is that he’s chopping off, off the corpse in front of him.
I’m beyond shaken, even though I know I shouldn’t be. This is who he is, after all – dark, unforgivably unapologetic; insane in the face of ending lives. And God, I still love him, despite seeing him practically cut a human to pieces.
I look towards the other side of the room, and find Mom – her wrists and ankles tied, and her mouth taped shut – crying as she watches Dorran. Her face is streaked black from her mascara, and her hair is a dirty mess around her. Her grey pencil dress is smudged black, and so are her legs. The sight she makes is beyond satisfying, and if I had my phone with me, I’d have taken a photo of her and nailed it to my bedroom wall.
She must’ve felt a presence or something, because she turns in my direction, and when our eyes meet, she starts fighting against her restraints. Every time she jerks to free herself, her back bangs against the steel cabinet behind her, making a loud thump-like sound.
Her actions make Dorran turn as well, and when he sees me, he grins and gets to his feet. Gone is the man who’d stood behind me and uttered words of encouragement in my ear only hours ago. Who’d fucked me in his shower and cleaned me up after. Because who I see before me is death itself – materialized; made human.
Dorran walks over to the door and stands in front of it, then places his left hand on the glass panel before looking down at me.
