I stumble back and crash onto the floor, grabbing the trash can to empty out the contents of my stomach. The acid burns up my throat and chokes me as my eyes water and the tears fall into the plastic bin. My stomach muscles contract with each heave, and ache with each breath of the putrid air. I jolt when something soft touches my lower back, but I keep going, dry heaving like I might be able to rid myself of my sins. All the while my eyes stay glued on the first domino, ingraining the sight into my memory; every wound and broken bone, mangled and distorted against the rising tempo of the music.
The bruises on my body are still there, and in time, they’ll heal. McGill is forever immortalized to be an unrecognizable creature, turned by the very monster he helped create.
I’m not sure which part is making me sick, the fact that I murdered someone, or that one of the locks on my cage is gone. It feels like freedom is finally within reach, and I don’t know how to cope with that knowledge. The only time I’ve felt free was at the bottom of a bottle or a couple grams deep. Now that I’m sober, it feels surreal, as if at any second McGill will wake or my grandfather will walk through the door.
But I’m not free yet. Not until they’re all dead.
I don’t care how many times I have to throw up, or lose a part of myself each time I spill blood, my grandfather doesn’t get to live after what he’s done.
Kohen’s hazel eyes greet mine when I turn to face him with tears streaming down my cheeks. “Blaze, you know what you did to my place? Do it again. Without the bat this time. Destroy it all.” Kohen drops the six letters of demand for payment from casinos and gambling companies nationwide. “We’re here to collect your debt. So collect, Thief.”
Turning up the volume dial on the stereo, the music fills the background of the chaos and I go back to watching Blaze.
Wiping traces of us clean from this house is going to be a nightmare. The murder weapon will need to go, the nails disassembled, the bat disposed of, and the paperwork from Jonathan will need to be strategically placed. Anything and everything to stop the police from linking this back to Blaze.
It needs to be clean, but not so clean that it looks like it was done by a professional. It must be done messily, just enough to make it seem like the intruder didn’t spend long here.
Blaze, on the other hand? She’s doing her jobspectacularly.Kicking boxes, emptying them upside down, flicking lamps across the room, ripping pillows in half, turning the bed over, and checking every conceivable hiding place known to man. She skirted the line ofcrime of passion;now, she’s a woman on a mission. I’m not sure what exactly she’s looking for as she checks for hidden drawers and coat pockets, but she’s in her element, coated in blood, half naked, and seething with rage.
She’s a whirlwind of complete and utter chaos. Watching her come undone is the most mesmerizing thing I have ever seen. My heart aches seeing her as unbidden as she is now, with her eyes glazed over with unshed tears. The thread she was holding on to earlier has turned to ash, and all that’s left is for her to fall.
Leaning against the balcony, I flick the wheel on my lighter and watch her rampage through the house, tipping over everything in sight. The music from the speakers vibrates along the wooden floors, barely loud enough to be heard above Blaze’s frenzy. It’s odd that she hasn’t once pocketed anything or put something aside to take later.
Minutes roll by as she rapidly turns the house into an abandoned bomb site rather than a home. She pants and grunts as she runs around with zero methodology to how she zigzags through the house.
A stack of paper falls over as my lighter digs into my palm, feeling like a lead weight. It would be so easy for me to bend over and put the flame next to it—
I stamp down the thought. This is her moment, not mine.
Blaze huffs out a breath and marches to the only untouched furniture in the house: the antique redwood liquor cabinet. For the first time since the floodgates opened, she pauses. Standing before the cabinet, she eyes the selection of wines and near-empty bottles of whiskey and bourbon. It’s the only part of the house that might indicate McGill works amongst high society.
Blaze lunges to the side of the cabinet and lets out a feral cry,sending the glass hurtling onto the floor. She jumps back against my chest as the glass flies across the room in an explosion of browns and white. The last shard settles on the floor, and everything becomes still except for the heavy rise and fall of her chest.
The music is a distant melody as the air grows thicker with each breath we take. The more she eases her weight onto me, the more she trembles, tearing at a part of my soul. A sob racks through her whole body and I squeeze my eyes shut. I never thought a sound could make my heart splinter in two. The pain of her sorrow winds its way around every organ, every cell, every fiber.
I tuck her head against my chest and carry her into the living room, where there’s the sharp smell of smoke lingering in the air from the dying embers of the downstairs fireplace. The lights are on, revealing the wreckage of broken furniture, emptied boxes of clothes and ornaments, and the empty space before the fireplace. I lower her shaking form onto a spot on the rug, then stuff a piece of newspaper into the coals and add another log to the pile. Grabbing the lighter, I hold it to the corner of the paper. Turning the spark wheel, I watch it catch fire and quickly eat up the words written on it.
My lungs feel like ash as I watch her rock herself in her spot, muffling her sobs with a hand over her mouth. Her brows are etched together in a vicious frown as if the tears burning down her cheek are from a place of rage.
I had never heard her cry until we were sent to Seraphic Hills. If I can barely handle the sight of her hungover, nothing will undo me like seeing her tears. It hurts far more than any words she’s shot my way because it means it’s gone too far.She’sgone too far. I should have done the final blow or made her stay behind as I took him out.
She deserves the whole fucking world, not scraps. My girl is afighter; always has been, and always will be. She’s been through more battles than I have, and I will never be half as resilient as she is.
But the fighting will have to stop. One day, she won’t have any more punches to throw.
I don’t want to be her grief. I don’t want to be any part of the reason she feels the need to curl her fingers into fists or keep her walls up around herself. I don’t even want to be her everything.
I want her heart to beat easily the second she wakes up in the morning. I want her to smile for the sake of smiling. Laugh, cry tears of joy, skip around until she’s shitting fucking rainbows. I want her to be happy. And if everyone has to die for that to happen, then I better get good at digging graves.
“I’m sorry, Blaze. It’s my fault.” I drop onto my knees in front of her. “I shouldn’t—”
“Don’t,” Blaze grits out, yanking me down to her by my shirt. My arms flick out to stabilize myself on either side of her. “Don’t you dare finish your sentence. He was my tormenter, so he was mine to kill.”
The muscle in my jaw twitches. “But—”
She slams her mouth against mine, crushing me in a bruising kiss. Her arms snake around my neck as she climbs on top of me, trapping me down with her thighs. I’m too stunned to do much more than let her. The cold wetness on her cheeks smears across my skin as our lips move together as if I’m the cure she’s been searching for all her life.
“Blaze,” I say between her fevered touches. She pushes me back to straddle my hips, and I curse when she grinds on me. “Blaze.” It comes out more sternly this time, and she reacts by gripping my short hair to deepen the kiss. The warm air from thefire caresses my skin when she tugs my shirt up, and I wrap my hand around her throat to push her back. Her pulse rampages beneath my thumb as her breathing comes out in short bursts. “Blaze,” I warn, voice hoarse.
