The news shouldn’t sting; I don’t love or want him, but betrayal always burns, no matter the circumstances. The smell of smoke is growing stronger now. The urge to cough fills my lungs, but I’m too filled with rage to let him see any weakness. Acid swirls in my core when I think of the lie I was living, pretending to have the perfect life.
What a joke.
“You were soft, and pretty, and desperate to be my perfect little housewife.” He chuckles but there’s only darkness in his tone. “So easy to use and manipulate.”
Our gazes clash, and if he weren’t holding a gun to my head, I’d slap him.
“We had a good life, Ali.” His free hand moves to slide up my thigh. I tense under his touch and move to push him away, but he holds the gun firmly to my head. “Then you went and fucked everything up.” His fat little fingers, so smooth and doughy, find my panties and rub against my slit. He’s aggressive and unskilled, as usual. “You should have just minded your business and stayed away from him.”
It hits me then—that in every possible scenario, in every way this could have gone down, I would have chosen Garett. He’s myfate. And there’s no escaping fate.
“Get the fuck off of me,” I growl as I use all my strength to shove Brody off of me.
The gun goes off. The sound is so loud that my ears are immediately filled with ringing. I can hear myself scream, but it sounds far away. Glass shatters. Lights flicker. Pain rips through me.
I look down to see blood staining the pale flesh of my arm where the bullet grazed me. Despite everything, a small part of me can’t believe this man would shoot me. Protect and cherish my ass.
Pushing myself to my feet, I wince as pain slices through my arm. Glass cracks from under me as I stand. The bullet grazed me and hit a monitor behind, shattering it and leaving broken glass everywhere.
“Brody Clarke,” I begin softly, hating the way my voice cracks. “You are a weak man. I regret having met you, having married you, having wasted any amount of time believing that you could be what I needed. I had a fantasy of who we were and the life we were living.” As I speak, the smell of smoke gets stronger, so strong it’s almost suffocating. “But I see you for who you are, who you truly are. And I hope you rot in fucking Hell.”
Before he has a chance to react, I pounce. My nails sink into the flesh of his hurt cheek, pulling and scraping at the wounded flesh. He screams like a bitch as I begin to peel back the skin of his cheek, creating a gaping wound on his once handsome facade.
“You fucking bitch,” he snarls before shoving me off of him. My head hits the ground with a smack that reverberates through my entire skull. Blackness swarms my vision.
When I manage to open my eyes, I look up and suck in a sharp breath.
The Devil is here.
“Get the fuck away from her,” Garett snarls as he steps into the room. I cradle my throbbing head as I let him step in front of me, his mask glowing red and gun held high. Smoke trails around his feet, swirling through the darkness as he steps into the room.
“What are you going to do?” Brody asks as he points the gun not at Garett, but at me. “Shoot me and I’ll shoot her. She’s either leaving with me, or she’s leaving in a body bag.”
The screens eerie glow behind Brody, basking him in a sickly green light that makes him look more monster than man. The mask of the husband I thought I knew, completely falling away.
“You’re not getting anywhere near her,” Garett warns as he steps in front of me, using himself as a shield to block me from the monster above. “You‘ve already taken enough from me, you won’t take her too.”
I try to raise myself up, but the world spins and nausea rolls through me. Black spots dart across my vision and I slump back down onto the floor.
“Oh, that’s right.” Brody’s voice is a sickly mocking tone that makes my blood boil. “Your poor dead sister.”
Garett lunges forward but the barrel pointed at his chest stops him. “You don’t get to fucking talk about her.”
“I remember her, you know?” Brody continues. Bile rises in my throat, but it’s not the concussion making me sick this time. “She cried and whimpered, whining the entire time that it hurt.”
Garett’s fist is clenched so tightly that the knuckles are turning white. Blood drips down my husband’s face from where I attacked him, and his eyes are filled with malice like I’ve never seen. He looks evil—the type of monster that haunts nightmares. A man who thinks he has the right to take, and own, and harm. I see him for who he truly is, and it’s terrifying.
“It’s time to go,” a voice coaxes from behind me.
I spin to see Celeste’s glowing white mask in the doorway.Her hand is outstretched to me, urging me away. But I can’t go. I can’t leave him.
“Back off bitch,” Brody growls when he notices Celeste in the door. The gun swings in her direction.
Garett seizes the opportunity, the momentary distraction, to lunge. The gun hits Brody’s skull with a sickening crack. Their bodies collide as both of them fight for control.
“We need to go, now!” a deeper voice, Luke’s voice, calls from behind me, but I can’t pull myself from the scene in front of me. I watch in horror as fists fly and blood splatters the glowing screens behind them. “This place is about to go up in flames.”
Both men still have their guns, both grappling for control. Neither can get a shot off. My mind and eyes are struggling to process what I’m seeing, what to do, how to help, when an arm bands around my waist.
