Suddenly, he stills and, as I pull away, I read the shock in his widening eyes. I move back so he can sit forward, his gaze dropping between us to where the needle punctures his arm. The empty syringe rests in my hand, my thumb depressing the plunger.
As his gaze lifts, his features draw together in confusion. “Blakely?”
My name asks every question, demands every answer.
“Because I don’t have a choice,” I admit to him. I touch his face gently, trying to detect if the antidote is working. “Because I love you. And I’m too selfish to let you go.”
The sickness within me refuses to lose him. It dominates rationality, my conscience—even my sense of justice, where I still crave revenge on Alex. All of it pales to my need to keep him with me.
As Alex stares at me in wonder, some other desperate emotion passes across his face, and he again looks down at the syringe.
“What is it?” I ask. My heartbeat flutters erratically in my pulse.
He removes the needle and holds up the barrel, analyzing the remainder of the contents. “It’s clear,” he says, as if answering some internal question. He pushes a drop of fluid onto his finger and tastes it.
At his prolonged silence, I drag in a breath, impatience striking my nerves like flint. “Alex…?”
“It’s water.”
My heart drops, my lungs clawing for air as an icy sensation trickles through my veins, leaving me cold. “He tricked us…lied to us?” But even as I voice my fears aloud, I know it’s pointless.
Grayson likes to toy with his victims.
Alex said this would end bloody.
I start to stand, to do…something, anything. Call for help. Call London and scream—but Alex grabs my hand, preventing me from caving into panic.
“There are no symptoms,” he says, trying to reach me. “I don’t have any symptoms, and it’s been—” he glances at his pocket watch “—but I still can’t see that far.”
As adrenaline crests, I tear my hand free and look at the time. “Eleven minutes.”
Realization slices deep, and I search for the phone. I’m typing a text to Grayson as I see three little dots appear. I wait with bated breath for his message.
It’s exceedingly ridiculous, don’t you think, that I’d have access to a military-grade nerve agent? Really, I gave Alex far more credit. But sometimes, you don’t need to be extreme to get extreme results.
“Fuck.” I drop the phone in my lap and wipe my hands down my face, a fierce mix of anger and relief tearing through my nervous system.
I feel Alex’s touch as he brings me back from the brink. Then he stands and limps to the trash bin, where he digs out the vial Grayson tossed, confirming the contents are also water.
A manic laugh springs free, and I glance at Addisyn, who is mumbling something frantic beneath her gag. Maybe I should release her and let her in on the full outcome, but she’s still a despicable human being, and a few more minutes won’t literally kill her.
My phone vibrates in my lap, sending a spike of apprehension careening through me. Warily, I turn the screen over.
Loose ends…they’re a threat that just won’t go away. They have to be cut off so they don’t fray out of control. I’d like to assume I know the choice you made, and if I’m right, then you’ve already made the hardest decision of all. What you have to do next will be relatively easy.
The world needs people like us, Blakely. It needs us to weed the vilest subhumans from existence to balance humanity. Don’t fall victim to the weak mindset that held you back for so long. Addisyn is what a true monster looks like. Your research didn’t uncover all her secrets.
The choice is still yours, of course, but it would be highly unwise to disappoint me.
Look in the drawer.
PS – London says “hello.” Oh, and not to worry about digging up the earth at Devil’s Peak. All has been relocated for you.
This time, when I throw the phone, I make sure it breaks. The screen cracks on impact, going dark.
All has been relocated. All—as in the remains of Alex’s subjects.
If we walk away right now, Alex never has to know what the message said. I can let Addisyn go and threaten her to leave the city. I can force her to disappear. Then we can disappear, too.
“I’ll do it.”
Alex’s sure voice breaks into my thoughts, and I turn to see him standing behind me, his body bearing the pain from being racked, but strong in the way only Alex can be. With absolute, sheer conviction.
“I guess you can make an educated guess as to what he wants,” I say.
As he moves toward me, his eyes holding mine with resolve, he says, “You’ll despise me for doing it, but he’s not wrong. It has to be done. I’ll do it, so you don’t have to.”
He wants to spare me the guilt. I mean, for him, what’s one more body to add to the count? If only that was the matter tearing me apart.
I gave too much away to London, and she used every single scrap against me, against us.
If we don’t get rid of Addisyn, if we give the diabolical duo any reason at all to come after us, those bones from Devil’s Peak will resurface somewhere, and it won’t be Alex’s sister who is splashed across the news and social media.
There will be a manhunt.
For Alex.
How can I save his life and not…save his life?
Anger courses my blood like molten shards as I stalk to the counter and open the drawers one-by-one until I find the hunting knife Grayson left behind. I want to rage over the fact I was manipulated. But really, in the back of my mind, a tiny voice whispers a taunt.
Grayson made it easier for me.
By forcing me to first choose between Alex and Addisyn’s life with the mock nerve agent, the choice to now kill Addisyn doesn’t feel as consequential. Just five minutes ago, she was dead already. And allowing Alex to kill Addisyn seems like an insignificant price to pay to keep our secrets.
Grayson won’t know who did the deed.
All that matters is his fucking loose ends are no longer a threat.
Besides, I have no excuses left. I asked for this torture when I threatened London with the microchip, didn’t I? No, further back…when I tipped the first domino by sending her that email.
I wrap my hand around the knife hilt and shut my eyes against the building pressure.
My temples throb, a residual side-effect from electroshock. High anxiety triggers the reaction, as if my body is reminded of what it has endured. I almost laugh as I test the weight of the hunting knife. I’m so full of shit.
Just a few days ago, I was plotting Alex’s demise. I was hate-fucking him in a skywalk bathroom. Now I’m mentally torturing myself over removing one of my targets? A sadistic homewrecker? How many other women would secretly choose to end Addisyn’s life if there was no judgment, no consequences? If the rules didn’t apply to them?
This isn’t about her, or these fucking emotions, or the guilt. I knew what I was capable of the moment I shoved a little boy’s face in an ant bed.
Who I am—my true nature—was inescapable.
“Blakely.” Alex’s voice comes from behind me, a summons.
I close the drawer and turn toward him, the knife held before me. A worried divot creases the space between his eyebrows, and I step forward and smooth the wrinkle away with my thumb, then palm his face, letting the abrasive feel of his shadowed stubble comfort me.