Page 41 of What Remains

And I don’t feel bad about a single life I took tonight. Hell, I think I even liked it. I wanted to swim in that fucker’s blood who planned to assault Gwen. And that worries me. Because I don’t know what to make of it.

I need to just . . . come on.

Feel bad.

Feel. Fucking. Bad.

People died. I killed them. And maybe those people could have been redeemed, but now they’re dead. Gone for good. Forever in Hell.

I sink to my knees, keeping my palms on the counter as I bow my head to the cabinet.

Nothing comes. Not an ounce of remorse. Not a single pulse of regret thrums through me. I only get angrier every time I remember what happened.

The world is better without them.

Those men were pure evil. Demonic, even. Incapable of redemption. That’s all that makes sense for anyone to ever want to⁠—

At the two raps at the door, my back muscles snap together, provoking pain from those damn lashes. Ignoring the lingering sting, I shove away from the counter and fall back onto my heels, planting my hands on top of my thighs. “Yeah?”

“You’ve been in there over ten minutes,” Zoey says through the door. “We got worried about you.”

Ten minutes? How long was I on my knees? The shower couldn’t have been more than sixty seconds. Did I really zone out like that? “Sorry, I’m, uh, coming.”

I slap a hand to the counter and haul myself to my feet. My clothes aren’t in here, so that’s great. Ensuring my towel is secure, I open up, not expecting to see both Gwen and Zoey.

“Hey,” I force out, my gaze flying straight to Gwen sitting on the bed.

“Hi,” Gwen speaks first, and the word might be small, but this woman always manages to pack a hell of a lot of emotion into every syllable she speaks.

“You okay?” Zoey asks, but I’m too busy checking out Gwen to respond.

Shit, not like that. Just making sure she’s fine.

She’s not naked, so that’s good. She has on black sweats and a plain gray, long-sleeved, cotton shirt. And like Zoey, her wet hair is in a side braid. Her feet are bare. But yeah, she looks much better. Like she didn’t nearly . . .

I clench my jaw and fold my arms over my chest, then lean into the doorway while crossing my ankles in a lame attempt to pull off casual.

Gwen has a half-eaten granola bar grasped between her palms, and she lowers it to her lap as she stares at me.

“Are you okay?” I ask her.

Her lips twitch, like she’s remembering our teasing exchange—something that probably shouldn’t have happened, imaginary doctor’s orders or not.

“I’ll be better when we’re off this island,” she answers, and I’m right there with her on that.

“I think I should go to the compound before we leave and have a look around.”

Zoey’s words hit me like whiplash, and my head snaps toward her. “I know you don’t answer to me or Carter, but it’s too dangerous. You’re not going back there.”

She motions to the hall. “I can’t sit here and babysit the cameras for three hours when there could be actionable intelligence we could get our hands on. By the time they get here, it’ll be too late. Authorities will be crawling all over the place, too.”

“If that’s the case, we’ll get POTUS to make a call for us so we can get access.” I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but . . . “Julian can hack the records and see if the local police salvage anything that’s helpful to our case. You know our people are scouring surveillance footage of the island now that they know where we are. They can pull up aerial footage of the compound,” I point out. “So, there’s nothing we can do but hold tight and stay safe until they get here.”

Zoey shakes her head, so damn stubborn. Just like someone else I know. I glance at Miss Stubborn herself, and she’s quietly studying me the way I’ve seen her analyze a complex bit of code she’s struggling to decrypt.

Good luck with that. I don’t even understand myself.

“It’s still better if we physically have boots on the ground ourselves, and you know it.”