A gun.
It looked almost harmless lying there against the drawer’s wooden bottom, but I’d seen firsthand what weapons like this could do to human flesh. I’d felt the searing pain of a bullet piercing the skin. Of watching someone you love bleed out and die in front of your eyes while you were helpless to do anything but scream and cry.
My breath shuddered out in a half gasp, half sob, and the shoulder which had been injured ached, as it did from time to time.
You can do this.You’re brave, and Rusty has hurt too many people. He has to be stopped.This was the cost of survival in this world. This was the legacy my father had left behind. This was the cost of wanting vengeance so deeply it had fused permanently into my bones.
I reached in with a hand that shook so badly I almost couldn’t grasp it.
The weight shocked me; it was so much heavier than I’d anticipated. It dragged at my wrist, as if the weapon itself were testing me, trying to decide if I was worthy of holding it. My hands were too small for the grip, fingers too soft and unpracticed. The textured handle bit awkwardly into my palm, and I had absolutely no idea where my fingers were supposed to rest without accidentally squeezing something important and shooting a hole through the wall.
Or through myself.
God. I didn’t know how to use it. Didn’t know safety from triggerand didn’t understand mechanics or ammunition or anything beyond “point and pull.”
A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in my chest, not funny, not even remotely close to humor, but one of those hysterical, what-the-fuck-is-my-life laughs.
The water shut off abruptly.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
I snapped back into my body, heart vaulting directly into my throat and staying there. I closed my fingers tighter around the weapon, excruciatingly careful to avoid the trigger, careful not to drop it as adrenaline surged hot and disorienting through my bloodstream.
I shoved the gun clumsily under my hoodie and forced myself to breathe as I darted quickly toward the door and slipped out of his room into the hallway, my door clicking shut behind me. I pressed my back flat against it, exhaling all the fear and guilt and grim determination that had been choking my lungs.
Crossing to the closet quickly, I grabbed the first sweater I saw hanging and wrapped the gun up. I tucked it carefully inside my canvas crossbody bag alongside my wallet, ID, and a pack of gum. Totally didn’t look out of place at all.
But it was safe, hidden, and secret, just waiting for the moment.
The bag stared at me from where it hung on the closet door handle, looking fuller than usual.Fuck. Would anyone notice?
I doubted any of the Corvos paid close attention to my purse.
This wasn’t just a weapon I’d stolen. It was a line drawn in permanent ink, and I’d just deliberately crossed it, stepped over from victim into something else entirely.
When the time came, when I finally saw Rusty’s face again, when he confidently thought himself untouchable…
I wouldn’t hesitate.
I couldn’t afford to.
Notanymore.
Kreed was up to something,but he also suspected I was as well. I couldn’t figure out what angle he was playing, but I didn’t have time to sneak around or uncover any hints, not when I had my own shit going on. If I wanted my plan to go off without a hitch, I couldn’t afford to worry about what trouble Kreed would get into. I had to trust him. With everything. With my life, my heart, my sanity, and my future. Trust he could take care of himself.
And hopefully, this would all be over soon, and perhaps we could try being a normal couple, not that I was sure Kreed and I could ever be normal by any definition.
I seriously doubted it.
Still, the fantasy was nice to imagine in quiet moments.
The immediate problem? There was no such thing as real privacy in this damn house.
Despite the Corvo estate being so large, there weren’t tons of places that ensured privacy. There were too many eyes and ears, not to mention security and cameras, which were all fine and dandy for making me feel safe but not ideal for secret phone calls. Every room I popped in seemed to be occupied.
I rounded the corner into the massive kitchen first, where Amelia stood at the center island, stirring something aromatic in a large pot, humming softly. Her presence was cheerful and completely inconvenient.
Nope. Abort mission. Out.
