The living room is completely trashed. The coffee table is overturned, magazines and coasters scattered everywhere. One of Yasmin’s potted plants lies broken on the floor, dirt spilling across the hardwood.
And Zeke?—
Zeke lies unconscious and bleeding in the middle of the floor.
My breath catches. I stand stupidly in place and stare. Blood pools beneath his head, stark against the patterned rug.
Like the body in the alleyway. The dead man at Bastian’s feet.
Finally, the spell breaks and I can move again.
“Zeke!” I lunge forward and drop to my knees beside him. My hands hover over his body, not sure where to touch, where it’s safe. “Zeke, can you hear me?”
He doesn’t respond. His chest rises and falls with each shallow breath, so he must be alive, but his eyes remain closed and the nasty gash above his temple bleeds freely.
Another crash comes from the bedroom. Yasmin screams again.
I’m torn. Do I stay with Zeke or go help Yasmin? My vision narrows to almost nothing as panic floods through me. I can barely see Zeke’s face anymore, just a dark shape against lighter carpet.
“Hold on,” I whisper to him, though I don’t know if he can hear me. “Just hold on.”
I push myself upright and trip toward the bedroom. The door is ajar, and through the gap, I can see movement. Shadows struggling.
I shove through the doorway…
… and there, gripping Yasmin by the throat while she struggles against him, is Brandon.
I asked for a taste of the dark, didn’t I?
Looks like I got it.
60
BASTIAN
l’addition: /la.di.sj?~/: noun
1: French for “the check”
2: when payment comes due. the reckoning. the end.
I stand there in the alley for ages after she’s gone.
The rain keeps falling. The body at my feet keeps bleeding out. My hands are still covered in gore.
But all I can see is the look on Eliana’s face before she ran.
Horror. Betrayal. Disgust.The trifecta of everything I’ve spent sixteen years trying to avoid becoming.
I crouch down and pick up the knife I dropped. My hands are shaking so badly that I nearly drop it again. I open my other palm. The severed pinky lies there, pale and obscene against my skin.
I did this for you,I’d told her.
What a fucking joke. I didn’t do this for Eliana—I did it for Aleksei. I did it because when my brother snaps his fingers, I still come running like a well-trained dog.
I did it because, in the marrow of my bones, I am exactly what she saw when she looked at me: a monster in a bloody tux.
Because of that, she’s gone now. She saw what I really am, and she’s gone.
