I could barely inhale. My rage still boiled, and my pulse raced to go back. But I felt her steadying presence. It was anchoring me to the world, keeping me from crossing that line.
Her light. Not mine. Hers.
I wanted to stay in that dark rage forever, to let it consume Tyler for good. But Xanthy’s hands, her sweet voice, and her trembling body pressing against mine reminded me why I hadn’t. Why I couldn’t.
Why did I need her light in my life? Not Carrington’s darkness.
I let her hold me, driving with one hand on the wheel, and one wrapped around me, taking us farther from him, leaving Tyler bleeding and broken on the ground.
And as we disappeared into the shadows, I realized the choice I’d been avoiding wasn’t about the ring or the wedding or even her.
It was about the part of me that slipped so easily into the darkness and never returned, and yet, somehow, her light brought me back.
I was never light.
I was just a different version of darkness all along. And if I chose to be with Carrington, it was only a matter of time until the storm consumed us both.
The wedding lights glared inside the stuffy ass building, all soft, sweet, and the biggest lie there was. It was the kind of shit people clung to when they needed to convince themselves the world is gentle despite seeing the cruelty right in their dumbass faces.
I knew better.
I’d been watching from the tree line long before Xanthy slipped into the reception and before Shiloh’s temper snapped and Tyler ended up on the ground getting the hell beaten out of him.
Beautiful.
Watching Tyler getting his pompous ass pummeled in general gave me a boner, but seeing my Sunshine turn into the dark storm that broke him was even better.
I lived for watching this dickhole eat his teeth.
I stayed in the shadows, leaning against a cedar trunk, my hands stuffed in my pockets, letting the music drift over to me. It was all too perfect before this: laughter, champagne, and that ever-dull hum of conversation. Nobody ever looked for monsters at a wedding. I blended into the suit-and-tie get-up just as easily as I always had.
Tyler rolled on the ground of the gravel like a fucking turtle as Shiloh and my banshee sister sped off. He was trying to slink away from the pavilion, likely fearful that people from the party would see his sorry ass through the windows.
His pride was bleeding harder than his face. He kept growling, trying to readjust his face with all the dislocations present.
“Fucking doctor. Fucking Xanthy. I’ll fuck your bitch in your blood! Touch me and think you can run? Ha!” he was muttering to himself as he staggered to his feet, limping toward the parking lot to his flashy black Hummer.
I followed him, veering toward the back while he went for the driver’s side. He couldn’t see me past his busted eye and blurred vision. I was in the passenger seat, my hands gripped around the scissors, the same ones I used to end his sister.
He didn’t notice me until the hummer was off the gravel, and my body swayed into his shoulder from the bumps.
“What the fuck!” he screamed.
The car veered, screeching to a halt, throwing us both forward. Darling Tyler didn’t wear his seatbelt, so his body crumpled into the windshield, fresh blood painting the dashboard from his forehead. I saw the moment his hazy gazemet mine, recognition at first, then disbelief, and finally fear slid over his glassy eyes.
“Harding? What…what the fuck are you doing in my fucking car?” he croaked.
I hadn’t heard that voice in years, but it still punched the same bruised nerves, breaking open all the cuts and gashes of my past. Tyler always loved to touch me, grope my ass in the showers, drag his boots over my dick, and make my world a series of shouting and pain.
“Hello, Tyler,” I said, leaning forward in my seatbelt to brush hair out of his face with my scissors. “Didn’t expect to see you eating dirt instead of the bride’s pussy at a wedding, old pal. Losing your touch, Veering?”
His throat bobbed, his anger evident as it sobered him. “Carrington fucking Harding. Still sucking on your sister’s tit like always, I see.”
I laughed at that.
“Nah, her boyfriend’s dick tastes better.”
That was enough to throw him off, and I took advantage, throwing his body back in his seat and holding the scissors’ sharp point to his carotid.
