When I made to leave, he rasped, “No, there isn’t a cure, Kitty.” As my heart sank, he continued with one word that had me pivoting around to stare at him with hope. “Yet.”
TWENTY-FOUR
STAN
Playlist recommendation:
Video Games - Lana Del Rey
Even as I made her the promise, as my lips and tongue formed ‘yet,’ I had no real idea of how to follow through, but in that moment, it didn’t matter.
She was fucking right.
I’d known when I’d crafted the abomination what it was, what it would do. I’d never imagined what addiction and constant, repeated use would lead to—despite my own history—but it hadn’t stopped me from manufacturing Red either.
From leveragingthatto fund my other work.
But her bleak statement hit me hard.
I already knew Rory hated Red. Why wouldn’t she? She was a woman and an ex-DA, someone well aware of what this shit would, could, andhadled to.
But if my stomach twisted as I vowed, “Yet,” it was worth it for her reaction.
“Really?” Kitty breathed, her hope so beautiful to behold that I was pretty sure a halo glowed around her head again.
“Really.” When she took a step toward me, every part of me fought against releasing the words, but for her sake, I bit off, “You know what I am, Kitty.”
Her approach faltered, and I bitterly resented that even as I understood why. “What do you mean?”
“Fixing my fuckup won’t change who I am and what I do.”
That had her hovering in place.
She knew exactly what I was talking about.
As much as she wanted to deny her ties to the Irish Mob, some things couldn’t be erased.
I could work on the antidote for Red all I wanted, but that didn’t stop me from being the Capo of theFamigghia. I’d always hold this spot. Unless our enemies slayed me. Or I died—by heart attack or otherwise.
I might not have been born for this role, but it’d remain mine until the end of my time on this planet. And by contrast, my fallen angel had a pure heart with a vocation to back it up.
When I felt the distance growing between us as she stayed put, that fucking monster inside me, the one that wanted to drag her to me, impale her on my dick so she couldn’t squirm free?—
My knuckles popped with how hard I clenched my fingers as I fought the primal need to snatch a hold of her and never let her go.
The sound, too soft to hear with the racket in the city, had her jerking like I’d fired a gunshot.
But it was a catalyst.
When she took a step toward me, not away, I could feel my fucking heart start pounding like it had that night I’d OD’ed. It rattled my ribcage, shook my whole being.
The urge to grab her overwhelmed me, to dig my fingers into her waist so that she’d see my marks in the morning, until she sawthem every fucking morning, but the last thing I wanted was to scare her.
So, I waited.
And I didn’t breathe.
And my heart continued rocketing with every step she took.
