She’s fucking screaming.
She has fucking tears.
For him.
I grab her by the goddamn arms and pick her up, dropping her back down on the bed. I straddle her while she covers her head and screams even louder, the tears flooding down her face.
“Why are you fucking screaming, Sloan? WHY?!”
I can hear my father’s voice repeating whore, whore, whore. I smack my forehead to get it to stop.
Stop, stop, stop.
She doesn’t love him. She loves me. Forever.
“You don’t love him, Sloan,” I say, my face twisting in pain. “You don’t, he brainwashed you.” I grab her cheeks and press my lips to hers. She’s trying to pull away from me, trying to fight me.
“Yes I do!” she screams. “I love him, I hate you, I love him, I fucking hate you!”
She’s going to regret this. She’s going to regret this more than she’s ever regretted anything in her whole fucking worthless life. If she thinks she’s sad now watching that bastard die, wait until she sees me die.
She barely knew the guy. She’s loved me for two fucking years! My death would fucking devastate her. She’ll be crying so hard, she won’t have enough air to say she hates anyone.
Whore, whore whore.
I smack my hand against my forehead again and then I press my forehead to hers. She’s no longer screaming now. She’s just sobbing uncontrollably.
“You’re going to regret this, Sloan. You think you’re crying hard now? When I die, it’ll fucking kill you. It. Will. Fucking. Kill. You.”
She shakes her head back and forth, sobbing through her words. “It’s too late to kill me, Asa. You killed me a long fucking time ago.”
She’s delusional.
She’s goddamn delusional.
I laugh, knowing how much this is going to upset her. I laugh, knowing how much she’s going to regret everything she just said to me. I wish I could be here to see it when she finally realizes how much I mean to her. How much I’ve done for her. What her life will be like without me.
I press my mouth against her trembling lips.
I press the gun to the side of my head and I pull the fucking-
LUKE-43
Luke
You know what they say dying feels like?
No. You don’t know what they say, because no one says it. The people who die aren’t around to tell us what it felt like when it happened. The people who lived never died to begin with, so they’re unable to describe it.
But I’m in it. So let me tell you about it while I still can.
There’s a moment-a split second right before you close your eyes for the very last time-when you can actually feel yourself embracing death.
You can feel your heart as it begins to slow down, preparing to come to a halt.
You can feel your brain shutting off, the circuits slamming shut like doors.
You can feel your eyes closing-no matter how fucking hard you try to keep them open. And you realize that whatever you’re looking at in the moment you close your eyes-that’s the last thing you’re ever going to see.
I see Sloan. She’s all I see.
I see her screaming.
I see Asa pick her up and throw her on the bed.
I see her trying to fight him off.
I see her giving up.
That’s why I refuse to close my eyes.
I look down at the blood pouring from my chest-the life seeping out of me and onto the floor. I’ve made enough mistakes that caused Sloan to be in the position she’s in right now. I refuse to die without correcting a few of them.
It takes everything in me-but I stretch my arms out until I’m able to reach the gun at my ankle. There’s blood all over my hands, so I struggle getting a grip on it, but finally manage. I may not be the best at my profession in a lot of areas, but I have one hell of an aim.
Right when I lift my gun, Asa points his gun at himself.
No fucking way is he getting off that easy.
I refuse to close my eyes as I wrap my finger around the trigger and squeeze, watching as the bullet penetrates his wrist, sending his gun several feet across the room.
I refuse to close my eyes when the sound of three more shots penetrate my ears, this time coming from the direction of the bedroom door.
I refuse to close my eyes as I watch Ryan kick open the door and rush in, followed by several other men.
I refuse to close my eyes until Asa is on the floor-several feet away from Sloan-being handcuffed.
I refuse to close my eyes until they meet Sloan’s.
She’s off the bed, across the room, on her knees, pressing her hands to my chest, doing everything she can to keep the rest of the life from seeping out of me.
I don’t even have enough energy left to tell her it’s too late.