He sticks his hands in his pockets and cocks his head. “I’m confused, Decker. Explain it to me.”
“Specifics, Donovan. I imagine there’s a lot that might confuse you.”
When the muscles in his neck flex, I shift my stance, rooting my feet to the ground. Preparing myself in case that infamous Axel Donovan temper makes an appearance tonight. I could probably out-maneuver him, and I could definitely outrun him, but that meaty fist of his makes contact with anything above my neck, and there’s a real chance he could kill me. Though that bullet I shot through his shoulder two years ago has surely limited his mobility.
“How is it that my town is suddenly crawling with OPP, and I’m only just finding out about it?”
Shit. Right. I definitelymeantto tell him about it. Along with the twisted, dead Emily nightmares, it’s the only other thing that’s been plaguing my dreams. How to navigate extra police presence while managing Axel Donovan. Police that are here toactuallyput Donovan and his men behind bars.
Thing is, Donovan goes down, I go down with him.
I rub the back of my neck. “I’m handling it.”
He takes a step forward, and my feet stay glued to the asphalt. Behind me, Preacher has moved in closer.
“Doesn’t seem like you are,” Axe grits. “Gracie’s got a cruiser-door-shaped bruise on her face and some sergeant is droppingthreats, saying he’scoming for me. What the fuck’s going on over there?”
“Yeah… Allen’s a little over-enthusiastic about nailingyouin particular. Guy’s out for blood. I’ll move him in another direction, all right? Like I said. Handling it.”
“Hope so. Or this won’t end well for you.”
The threat pokes at my temper. Axe reminds me every chance he gets. His insurance policy. Guaranteeing my compliance, my forced loyalty.
Shit got dark after Emily died.
I couldn’t cope. Couldn’t stop rehashing every decision that led me to the moment another car crossed the centreline and took her life.
If I hadn’t thrown her phone in the back seat, she wouldn’t have taken off her seat belt. If I’d had my eye on the road a second sooner, I could have reacted faster. What if I’d taken another route that day? What if I hadn’t hit that stoplight? What if we’d left South Bay the first time she asked?
I was pissed off. Fucking drowning in guilt. And whiskey.A lotof fucking whiskey.
Worst part? There was no punishment. No atonement. No one to pay penance for what happened to her.
She was dead, and for some fucked-up reason, I survived. And the other guy? Not even a scratch. Or much of a fucking consequence. Suspended licence. Probation. A twelve-step program where they talk about feelings. He didn’t actually hit us, his lawyers argued. I was tired. She wasn’t wearing her seat belt. He was drunk and driving on the wrong side of the road, but somehow it was our fault.Myfault.
It all led to a pinnacle moment. To an opportunity. And I was faced with a decision.
What kind of man did I want to be?
Theboy scout, as Grace would say. The man who stood by the letter of the law, who believed in the justice system, who did what was right. Or the other guy. The man I am now. Who lies and steals and cheats. Who barely blinks when he takes a life.
Obviously I chose the latter.
Because that system? The badge? It failed me, failed Emily. What’s the point of standing by an institution that would betray me like that? That didn’t show up for me when I needed it the most?
At some point, someone put a knife in my hand.
I didn’t have to think about it all that much.
It was retribution. My atonement. My way of tipping the scales back into place.
Blood for blood.
And there was a lot of it. The memory, every sensation, is still fresh in my mind. The hilt in my hand. Curved to fit, like it was made for me, for the shape of my palm and the grip of my fingers. It was a part of me that night, an extension of my own twisted sense of justice. As was the blade. That sharp edge. Clean at first, gleaming silver, and then red.
By the time I finished, it was everywhere. I wore gloves, but it wanted to touch everything. It splattered all over my neck and face, seeped into the sleeves of my shirt, dripped down my wrists and stained my hands.
I burned it all. The clothes I wore that night. Everything I touched after.
