Arlo has Rylas pinned to the ground.
I get on my hands and knees and quickly crawl over to Delaney’s still form. When I touch her, my first thought is why is she so cold? I look around for something to warm her up with, but there’s nothing. Sitting up on my knees, I undo my shirt and pull it off, then lay it over her back before I gently touch her head.
“Delaney, please wake up.” I brush her hair to the side so I can see her face, and when it comes into view, I scream. Her eyes are open, but she isn’t looking at me. It’s as if she’s frozen in a moment, unable to move. “Delaney, wake up. Please, wake up.”
Hands settle on my shoulders, and I brush them off as I continue to shake her.
“Cora, I need you to move.”
“No, what if she?—”
“Let me check her, please.”
I nod once and then crawl backward in the mud. I’m cold, and my teeth are chattering, but I can’t stop it. I watch as Arlo gently turns her over and then checks her for a pulse. But there is none, no matter how hard I wish there were.
I turn my head away, and that’s when I see Rylas lying on the ground, still alive but barely so. Unfair, really. Managing to stand, I reach for the nearest thing I can grab, which just so happens to be a stick, and stumble over to him. There’s a knife protruding from his neck, and the beads that Arlo once used to strangle me during sex are wrapped tightly around his throat, cutting off his air. I also notice he’s missing another digit, this time the index finger. He’s wailing, his hand hovering as if he wants to touch the knife, but then he catches sight of his hands, and he hollers even louder despite the beads wrapped around his neck.
“Did she cry?” I grit out.
His gaze finds mine. “Help me,” he gargles, but the beads are wrapped tight. I once liked those beads, and now I love them as I watch the life drain from this bastard.
“Did she cry?” I ask again, and when he doesn’t answer, I kick him in the side—the same thing he did to me. “Did. She. Fucking. Cry?”
“Yes. Yes, she cried,” he screams.
And before I can stop myself or even think, I lift the stick and start belting him in the face with it. He raises his fucked-up hand to shield himself from the blows, but I keep beating him.
This asshole has to feel what Delaney felt.
He has to know that his life is worth less than hers.
She was so much more.
I repeatedly kick and hit him.
I can’t stop.
Blood flows from his neck even more now, and his hand lies limp next to him.
“Die, you son of a bitch.” I kick him hard just as two arms wrap around me. But it’s not the arms I know. These are unfamiliar.
“Arlo, come and get her.” Looking over my shoulder, I see it’s Boston. “Calm down,” he says, and those words make me angrier immediately.
I turn back and kick that lifeless piece of shit again for good measure.
FORTY-TWO
ARLO
I know it’s not the right time nor the right place, but I’m pretty sure I just fell in love.
When I’m close enough, Boston releases her, and I immediately pull off the mask that still covers her beautiful face. Behind it, I see her cheeks are covered in tears. Tears caused by that fuckhead, who is now lying on the ground, not breathing. I set my hands on her hips and pull her to me. She’s shivering, her skin ice-cold due to her lack of sufficient clothing and the cool, damp weather. There is a gash on her arm, which looks like a knife wound.
“Cora.” Tears are still falling from her eyes when they meet mine. “Can you walk, or do you need me to carry you?”
“Delaney,” she whispers, so broken.
I once enjoyed breaking pretty things. But this pretty thing was never meant to be fucking broken.
