Pain flickers over his eyes. Betrayal. “Why?”
Because you lied.
Because you're friends with Parker.
Because I can't let myself love you.
Because love is weakness and weakness gets you killed.
“Does it matter?” I ask instead, forcing myself to not focus on how my heart feels like it’s being torn from my chest.
His jaw clenches. “It matters to me.”
I meet his stare. “It shouldn't.”
“Too fucking late for that.” He releases my hair but doesn't let go of my wrist.
The room tilts.
“Asher…” I whisper, squeezing my fingers into my palm.
“Shut up.” He yanks me into his chest, lips crashing against mine.Silly Asher. He should have checked my other hand.
The second pistol fires, muffled against his chest. It’s the sound of finality. Of being too fucked up for love.
Asher stumbles back, hand going to the wound. Blood flowers across his shirt.
His eyes meet mine.
Not shock.
Not betrayal.
Just… hatred.
“Fucking knew it,” He breathes, falling.
I catch him before he hits the floor, cradling his head in my lap. His blood soaks into my white dress, warm and sticky. Worthy.
“I'm sorry,” I whisper, brushing hair from his forehead. “I'm so fucking sorry.”
Why the fuck am I crying.
Mariee de la Mort doesn't apologize.
She doesn't cry.
She doesn't fall in love with blue-eyed snowboarders who look at her like she's not damaged and still worth living for.
Asher's breathing slows, his eyes fluttering closed.
And I sit there, in a pool of blood that belongs to two men, holding the only person who ever made me feel human.
My phone vibrates. This time I don't look. I don't care. I don't want to.
I need to stay right here. Under Asher.
His features smooth out as he takes his final breath. I’d see him again. In another lifetime, when I wasn’t as fucked up as the evil I kill.
