My hand trembles, but I don’t lower the gun. “Yeah, Iheardthat,” I bite out. “But if it weren’t for you—if you hadn’t dragged us into this psychotic turf war—he’d still be alive.”
“Spare me the guilt trip, sweetheart,” Marcus growls. “You think you’re the only one who’s lost something? This game doesn’t care about blood. It doesn’t care who raised you or who kissed you goodnight—it just takes. And if you’re dumb enough to think you can stand on the board and not be sacrificed?—”
I fire. The bullet hits the wall just inches from his head.
Marcus laughs.
It’s not loud. Not manic.
It’s low—rotten—and it slips under my skin like a parasite.
The sound alone makes my stomach knot.
Because the way he laughs… it reminds me ofhim.
The one who used to smile just like that. With that same curling of the lip, like the cruelty was something private and sweet tohim. The way he’d smirk right before his hand slid lower—right before hegripped tighter.
The man who haunts my nightmares. The man I killed when I was thirteen.
Marcus has hiseyes.That same cold glint. That same hunger masked as power. He wears that same steel-edged exterior, the same ego made of blood and dominance and rot.
He’s everything I’ve spent my whole life trying to claw away from. Everything I loathe in myself. Everything that turned me into someone who lies. Who manipulates. Who betrays.
He’s the echo of the worst parts of me.
And suddenly I can’t breathe.
“Shut up!” I scream, the gun shaking in my hand now—not with fear, but with a chaos I don’t know how to name.
But Marcus only grins wider.
He leans forward, teeth bloodstained, eyes locked on mine with a terrible, knowing glint. “Be a good little pick-me, sweetheart,” he hisses. “Pull the trigger. Prove you’re one of us.”
Conner steps forward sharply. “Shut your fucking mouth,” he snaps, and it’s the first time I’ve heard that sharp, razor-clean edge in his voice. “You’ve already said too much.”
I can barely hear them. Because I’m still looking at Marcus. I’m still seeinghim.My abuser. My shadow. The one whose light I watched die in his eyes. And I feelfilthy.My soul feelsfilthy.Like no matter how many times I wash my hands, my skin will never be clean again.
“Peach,” Landon murmurs, stepping behind me, his hands sliding up my arms, anchoring me in his warmth. His voice is low, graveled with something soft and sacred. “You don’t have to do this.”
I freeze. Because I thought I did. I thought I had to be the one. That it was justice. That it was closure. That killing Marcus would erase something inside me. That it would bring something back. But all I feel now isweight.And I can’t.
I let the gun lower, slow.
“I would kill you, but I think Xavier would do a better job,” I look over at Xavier and watch the smoke bellow from his nostrils.
“Nah, its because you’re a fucking coward,” Marcus crackles.
I shrug, “Maybe, but you should be more concerned with those weapons over there. They look pointy.”
My hands shake, but I turn and practically run up the stairs taking a deep breath like I wasn’t breathing down there and for the first time in a while I feel those eyes on me again, and a part of me wants to scream.
22
CONNER
I never thoughtJasmine would end up in my arms. Statistically speaking, it didn’t track. She’s volatile. Independent. Not the kind of person who lets others carry her weight—literally or otherwise. And yet, here she is. Pressed against my chest, eyes half-shut, body too tired to keep holding itself up. Her breathing is uneven. She’s not fully asleep, not fully awake. A gray area. I’m familiar with those.
There’s a tremor in her fingers. Subtle, but consistent. She’s not built for this. Or rather—she’s not conditioned for it. Not the way Landon is. Not the way I am. The moral boundaries are still intact for her, even if they’ve started to erode. That makes her rare. Fragile in a way most people misunderstand. She doesn’t enjoy the kill. She doesn’t romanticize the blood. That’s what makes her valuable.
