Fear spikes in my veins when he takes a step toward me, then another. But I take my final step backward and feel the back of my legs hit the bedside table next to Joel’s side of the bed. In an instant, I wrench the drawer open and grab the pistol Joel has kept there in all the time we’ve been together.
He stops only a few feet away from me, his eyes wide with shock as I flick the safety off and point the pistol at him.
“Put that down before you hurt yourself.” It figures that even in the face of death, he’s still a cocky asshole.
“No.”
That one words shifts something irrevocably between us. Courage surges through me, and he’s entirely thrown off kilter, like he expected me to listen to him without question, like I truly don’t know what I’m doing by pointing a gun at him.
His hand moves to his hip, where his work-issued gun is holstered.
“Don’t move or I’ll shoot.”
He halts his movement.
“Brielle,” he warns, his voice softer now as he raises his palms toward me. “You’re overreacting. You’re emotionalabout this, and I get that. But don’t do anything stupid. Killing me is not the answer.”
A laugh bubbles up in my throat, and I’m fully aware that I look absolutely deranged right now. Joel’s expression morphs to one of panicked confusion, but I can’t stop laughing. Maybe it’s the stress, or maybe I have really lost my mind. But leave it to him to blame an action as severe as pointing a gun at him on my beingemotional.
I want to inform him that I’ve killed multiple people over the last few months, premeditated murders with careful planning and precision. I killed men just like him, who love power more than anything else, who use that power to hurt others. I don’t tell him, though. I’m not sure he would believe me if I did.
“Brielle,” he says again, this time with more urgency. “Just put down the gun and we can talk this out.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Really? And how do you suppose we’ll talk it out?”
“I—I can change,” he blurts, desperate to get out of this situation.
Too bad for him, I’ve heard all this bullshit before, and I don’t believe him for a second. Men like him never change.
“I don’t believe you,” I say matter-of-factly.
Right before I pull the trigger.
CHAPTER 44
Joel collapses to the carpet with a heavy thud seconds after the bullet hits his chest. Shock colors his expression as his face blanches. Never in a million years would he have guessed that his demise would be by my hand. There’s a sort of poetic justice in the situation—a man who reveled in the power he holds over others being killed by the woman he broke.
He coughs weakly, blood gurgling from his open mouth and staining the carpet beside him. With each passing second, he becomes paler.
A part of me expects to feel the guilt sink in any second—this is my husband, after all—but it never comes, even as I watch the carpet darken with his blood. There’s nothing besides cold detachment and a sense of liberation, even as the light leaves his eyes and he takes a final shuddering breath.
I stare at him for minutes, as if making sure he’s really gone.
I just murdered my husband. And this time, there was no justification for the murder, no convincing myself I had to kill out of necessity due to the deal I madewith Ambrose.
No, I simply shot him out of resentment and rage. A cold desire for revenge.
Does this make me a monster?
I’m not sure if I care either way.
All the bruises and scars I’ve suffered from him, the years of becoming a shadow of myself, have culminated into this moment. Frankly, he deserved to suffer more, but at least I know that he’ll never hurt anyone from now on.
Never again will I allow a man to control me or define me.
I rush to collect the items I’ve come here for, knowing I’m on borrowed time now that I’ve killed Joel. If he’s on his lunch break like I’m assuming he is, it won’t be long before someone starts to wonder where he is.
I need to hurry.
