The shame rises up my throat like bile.
I stand up too fast. Head for the door without thinking, just needing to get away from the sound of my own voice admitting what I’ve never said out loud.
Arms wrap around me from behind.
Sierra presses against my back, her cheek between my shoulder blades. Her arms lock tight, holding me together when I’m about to come apart.
She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t offer empty reassurances or try to tell me it wasn’t my fault.
She just holds me.
”I let it go on for years.” My voice is barely a rasp. “Told myself she was the adult. She made the rules. But the truth is I was a weak piece of shit who didn’t protect her when I should have.”
“No—”
“I killed him.”
My pulse hammers in my ears.
“Came home from school one day. Found her on the kitchen floor, curled up, covering her head while he kicked her. Over and over. Drunk off his ass, yelling about the house being dirty or some bullshit. Doesn’t matter what set him off. He didn’t need a reason.”
I close my eyes. I can still see the red that flooded my vision.
“I beat him to death with my bare hands. Right there in the kitchen. Sixteen years old, and that was my first kill.”
My jaw locks so tight my molars ache. I’ve made peace with killing him. What I haven’t made peace with is every day I didn’t.
Sierra doesn’t pull away or stiffen. She stays pressed against me, breathing soft and steady.
“Dario and Lorenzo helped me make it disappear. They never asked for details. Never made me explain. I joined the organization a few months later, and I’ve been loyal ever since.” I exhale. “That’s who I am, Si. That’s what you’re looking at. A man who’s been killing since he was a kid.”
I turn in her arms. She tips her head back. Studies my face in the low light.
“Do you regret it?”
The answer comes without hesitation. “No. I’d do it again. A thousand times.”
She doesn’t flinch. There’s no horror on her face. Just my girl, looking at me like I didn’t just hand her every reason to run.
One corner of her mouth curves up.
“I can’t blame you for that.” Her fingers trace over a scar on my back, light and careful. “After seeing what he did to you, I kind of wish I could’ve used my new shooting skills on him.”
A sound punches out of me. Surprise. Almost a laugh.
“Would’ve held him down for you.”
She settles her cheek against my chest again. Sighs.
“You’re not what you think you are,” she says. “You know that, right?”
My arms tighten around her. “And what do I think I am?”
“A monster.” She says it simply. “You’re not. You’re a protector.”
I don’t have any defense for that.
My arms crush her against me. Tighter than I should. A shudder rips through me—ugly, involuntary—and I bury my face in her hair so she won’t see whatever the fuck is happening to my expression right now.
