I bare my teeth. “I’m not dead yet.”
“No.” His gaze rakes over me. “But you will be. Unless…”
“Unless what? I get on my knees and beg?”
“The thought has appeal.”
“Go to hell.”
“After you.” He steps closer, voice dropping. “You know what fascinates me most about you, Eve? How you pretend to be so righteous while destroying everything you touch. Roberto. Heath. Everyone who tries to help you ends up dead.”
The mention of Roberto sets my blood boiling. “Don’t you dare say his name.”
“Why not? He died protecting your crusade. Just like Heath will.” Remy’s eyes flick to where Heath cowers. “Though he lasted longer than expected. Almost made me believe he’d actually grown a spine.”
“At least he has a conscience,” I spit. “Unlike you.”
“Conscience?” Remy laughs, the sound sharp and cold. “Is that what you call it? This reckless pursuit of justice that gets people killed?”
“Better than being a bought man who sells his soul to the highest bidder.”
His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around my throat. Not squeezing, just holding. A reminder of his control. “Careful, little girl. You’re not in a position to throw stones.”
I meet his gaze, refusing to show fear. “Do it then. Prove me right about what you really are.”
His grip tightens slightly. “You think you know me? You don’t know anything. You’re just a spoiled princess playing at being a hero.”
“And you’re just another one of my father’s dogs.” I lean into his grip. “How does it feel, Remy? Being owned?”
Remy pushes me away with a snarl of disgust as my heart shatters, each piece cutting deeper than any blade. The weight of failure crushes my chest—I failed my mother, whose final words made me promise to expose the truth. I failed those girls, trapped in metal containers, their faces haunting my dreams. Every single victim my father destroyed while I spent years gathering evidence, always one step behind.
But the deepest wound? Falling for this monster before me. The nights I spent in his arms, the moments I let myself believe he was different. That beneath his calculated exterior beat a heart capable of justice, of choosing right over profit. What a fool I’d been.
The barrel of his gun presses against my chest, hard metal through thin fabric. Remy’s features twist into something cruel and foreign, destroying the last remnants of the man I thought I knew.
“Your mother would be so disappointed,” he sneers, knowing exactly where to strike. “All these years, and what do you have to show for it? Nothing but dead allies and failed missions.”
I lock my spine straight, refusing to let tears fall. He wouldn’t get that satisfaction. Not now. Not ever. “My mother would be proud that I didn’t become what you are—a soulless thing that trades in human misery.”
His finger tightens on the trigger. “Still so righteous, even at the end.”
“Better righteous than bought.” I force the words out. Each breath feels like swallowing glass, knowing I let this man into my heart, my bed, my life.
“Go ahead,” I challenge, meeting his cold gaze. “Pull the trigger. Prove that twenty million means more than whatever we shared.”
I keep my head high, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break. The deafening gunshot fills my ears, but I don’t flinch. The pain is oddly distant, almost surreal, like a dream where sensations are muted and strange.
Looking down, I’m even surprised to see blood blooming across my chest, spreading like crimson flowers against the fabric of my shirt. My head spins, reality tilting sideways as my vision blurs around the edges.
It’s almost funny how death feels nothing like I imagined. No dramatic agony, no flash of my life before my eyes—just this slow, floating sensation as my legs give way beneath me.
My eyes instinctively search for Remy one last time. Through my fading vision, I catch his gaze, and something there makes my breath catch. His eyes shine with an emotion I can’t quite grasp—or maybe it’s just my dying brain playing tricks on me. But I don’t care. I choose to remember him this way: with that warmth in his eyes, that hint of softness I’d glimpsed in our private moments. And is that regret I see flickering across his face?
The world grows darker and colder, but I hold onto that final image of his eyes when I fall into eternal darkness.
Chapter 19
Pain pulses through my skull, dragging me back to consciousness in cruel waves. Each breath sends sharp jolts through my chest where Remy’s bullet struck. The memory hits as hard as the shot did—his cold eyes, the warehouse, and Heath’s terrified face. But I’m not dead.
