There could be no going back now.
And yet, it was only after I saw all of this that I realized I'd been wrong. Whatever happened in the end, I couldn't let her go.
Picking her up off the floor, I took her into the other room. When she realized what I was about, she began to struggle, kicking and screaming and hitting me. But I only held her tighter, warm blood running into the waistband of my pants, until I got to the cell. Throwing her over my shoulder, as I'd threatened to do at Luca's, I unlocked the door and took her inside. I dropped her on the floor, closing and locking the door before she could get to her feet.
She screamed and cursed at me as I backed away until I was out of reach. I stayed, watching, until the fight drained out of her. Her hands slid down the bars until she was on her knees, her head hanging forward so I couldn't see her face.
I took a step forward, then stopped.
With one last look at the broken woman on the floor, I turned and went back to my room, grabbing my weapon and jacket from the bed. Each step sent jolts of pain lancing through my side, but it barely registered as I walked away, my throat burning with my own tears. The pain in my chest was so unbearable it made the gunshot in my side feel like little more than a scratch.
As soon as I was in the hall, I stopped and leaned against the wall, trying to gather myself into some form of the man I was before, to push down the unfamiliar feelings threatening to overwhelm me.
How did people live this way? How did they go about their day with such agony inside of them? It was too much.
I couldn't separate or name the things I was feeling, and I didn't know how to make it stop. I'd always thought emotions were a weakness, something to be crushed and discarded. But now I realized they were a force to be reckoned with, a raging inferno that could destroy everything in its path.
Destroyme.
I scrubbed my face with my hands, trying to clear my head. But it was no use. The floodgates had been opened, and I didn't know how to close them again. Every time I blinked, I saw Luna's face, twisted in agony and betrayal. I heard her sobs echoing in my ears, felt the weight of her pain settling on my shoulders.
I couldn't do this. I needed to make it stop. What did a normal person do when they couldn't fix their head?
Pulling out my phone, I dialed the office of a psychiatrist I'd seen plastered across every billboard in the city. His assistant answered on the second ring.
"I need an appointment," I ground out. "Now."
She started to tell me the doctor had no availability until the following month. However, once I emphasized howurgentthis was, and that I would pay triple his normal rate, she miraculously found an opening right after lunch.
"I'm on my way." I hung up and continued down the hall, one hand pressed to my bleeding side. In the kitchen, I unbuttoned my shirt. Then I wet a towel and washed the blood from my skin as best I could before I packed the hole and slapped some gauze over it with some adhesive tape. If the bullet had gone an inch to the left, she would've missed me completely.
I didn't know if the bullet went through. Probably. Reaching behind me, I felt around, and when I pulled my hand back, there was fresh blood on my fingers. That was good. It went through. I packed it up the best I could, like I had the front. Once it was covered, I washed my hands and finished getting dressed.
Luna had every right to hate me. I was a monster, through and through. My hands were stained red from the lives I'd taken without remorse, even if it wasn't visible to the naked eye.
But the thought of losing her…
Holy fuck. It shattered something deep inside me that I thought was long dead. Underneath the brutal exterior I showed the world, she'd awakened feelings and desires I never knew were possible. Not redemption. It was way too fucking late for that. But maybe…hope. A future where light could reach even the darkest corners of my soul.
Luna's light.
The doctor would fix me, cut out this weakness, this confusion and pain...then maybe it would be better. I could go back to being the cold, unfeeling killer I was always meant to be.
Because feeling nothing had to be better than feeling this.
CHAPTER15
Tristan
“John?” the psychiatrist greeted me, using the fake name I'd provided.
I stood, buttoning my suit jacket and pulling down my shirtsleeves, then checked my cufflinks, using these few seconds to not only size up the man in the doorway as he did me, but to give myself a moment for the twinge in my side to lessen.
He smiled and extended his hand as I approached, but his eyes were wary as he took in my appearance. I knew the effect I had on people, the way I made them nervous. Like Veda. It didn't bother me, and it served me well in my profession.
I clasped his hand firmly, meeting his gaze with a guarded stare and wondering if this was a mistake. But I couldn't live this way anymore, and I was quickly losing control over my own psyche.
As I released his hand, he gestured for me to proceed him inside. Walking into the office, I scanned the room, automatically noting the placement of the furniture and the lack of a second escape route.
