The bitter taste of bile rose once more in my throat. My head throbbed, a dull, insistent pulse mirroring the frantic hammering of my guilt. Danny’s ravaged face, the vacant stare that had replaced the vibrant spark I had once loved, seared itself into my retinas.
It was my fault.
My fingerprints were smeared all over this catastrophe.
“He was screwing Carrie,” I rasped, my words catching in my throat, each syllable a jagged stone. “She was a former one-night stand from before... before us. Sinclair, that son of a bitch, dug her up. Used her like a pawn to checkmate Danny. He called me earlier, his smug voice dripping with satisfaction, and told me where to find them.”
The memory slammed into me, the stale scent of her cheap perfume assaulting my nostrils. Sinclair’s opulent office, the dark wooden floor doing little to muffle my approach, the sickening tableau that unfolded before me. Danny, his body slick with sweat and betrayal, tangled with that...thing. Carrie, her face a mask of knowing malice, a cruel smirk twisting her lips. Then, the chilling sound of my name, uttered by her like a curse. The icy grip of dread tightened around my chest as I watched the flicker of recognition ignite in Danny’s eyes.
It was the slow, agonizing crack that shattered his fragile sanity. And I witnessed the light in him go out, replaced by a terrifying emptiness.
If I hadn’t been there... If I hadn’t ripped apart the illusion.
“What happened next, Intern?” Torment’s voice cut through the suffocating silence, a whiplash of cold steel.
My gaze locked with his, burning with a feral intensity. The guttural rasp of my confession ripped through the silence of the room. “I blew her fucking brains out!”
My words hung in the air, heavy and irrevocable, stained with the crimson horror of my act.
The taste of blood—hers and Sinclair’s—still on my tongue.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dante
“Shit,” Torment growled, his gaze darting between me and Danny. “Okay, this is what we’re going to do. You get Danny cleaned up. I’m making calls.”
“To whom?”
“Montana first, then Val. And don’t even think about stopping me. I need her medical opinion.”
“About what?”
Torment sighed, the sound heavy with weariness. “Sypher. I think he’s bipolar. And if I’m right... he needs help. Extensive help. And that includes you.”
A bitter laugh escaped me. “I don’t need help.”
“Saying that screams the opposite,” Torment scoffed, his voice sharper now. “You saw your husband with another woman, then you killed her. Then you shot Sinclair. Intern, you’re drowning and you’re pretending to tread water.”
His accusation hung in the air, a lead weight in my chest.
He was right, brutally, undeniably right, and the admission gnawed at me. It wasn’t just the acts themselves; it was the ease with which I’d committed them. A chilling calm had settled over me, a calm that terrified me.
I opened my mouth to argue, the familiar defiance rising, but Torment cut me off.
“Don’t. Just... go take care of Danny. He’s been through hell.”
He was right, of course. But a different kind of rightness clawed at me. The rightness of escape. Of running, of disappearing before this all unraveled completely. A selfish, cowardly rightness that felt strangely comforting in the face of overwhelming guilt and fear. I shoved it down hard, focusing on the image of Danny’s broken face.
I nodded, my movement stiff.
As I turned, Torment’s voice stopped me. “And, Intern?” I waited, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach. “Be gentle with him. He’s vulnerable.”
His words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the brutal reality of what I’d done.
Gentle? I’d shown little gentleness lately, to anyone. The thought of touching Danny, of offering him comfort... it felt almost... wrong. Like a betrayal of myself, of the darkness I felt creeping closer.
I gave a small, strained smile. “I will,” I lied, the lie bitter on my tongue.