Page 54 of Chaos Kills

I just can’t believe I didn’t catch a vibe that Ozzy was the alleged person standing in front of me. That he just stood there like a shotgun wasn’t shit.

“Better listen up, dickhead,” I warn. “Takes one pull and you’re done.”

He stares down the barrel then flicks his gaze to me again. My body buzzes in warning that he’s a psycho. I would have someone demented and fearless walk into my home in the middle of the night because that’s my luck.

“Do it.”

For the last two days, I’ve tried to stay home to catch him. Ellie and Mae have loved it, using me up for board games, movies, painting our nails, and braiding each other’s hair, but my head isn’t fully with them.

It should be.

It’s not, though.

Another thing these boys have taken away from me is my right to peace. I’ve received only a tiny sliver of it because my past came back to bite me square on the ass.

It’s late, after ten, and the girls are sleeping in their new rooms. The house is deathly quiet. Dad’s ESPN isn’t softly broadcasting from a TV anymore.

I’m alone.

In a new house that’s not mine.

Not emotionally anyway.

I can only focus on the fact I’m married to a man who was twenty seconds away from killing my dad as I sit at the kitchen island with the same weapon that I used that night in my lap.

I don’t have Ozzy’s number to call or text. I’m not sure if tonight will be the night he’ll finally grace me with his presence, but he’ll never throw me off again.

And I want answers.

My luck finally decides to give me a break, and the door to the house opens with a key. Raising the gun and positioning the butt into my shoulder, I bide my time for what I hope will be a bodyof black to show up down my sight and not Levi asking me what the fuck I’m doing.

However, my luck breaks, and the latter doesn’t happen.

And, in true Ozzy fashion, he doesn’t flinch, move, or say a fucking thing to me.

Maybe he has so much guilt that it chokes him into not being able to say a word. For all I know, he could’ve been expecting this moment.

“We know each other,” I quip, brushing the trigger of the gun with my index finger. “You forgot to mention that.”

Ozzy doesn’t show shit—an ounce of remorse, a fuck, nothing.

I rack the gun and bring it up to my cheek, lining up my shot to his chest. “I want answers. I want to know why you decided to use yourself as tribute to marry me.”

“Don’t look down the side of the barrel,” he mutters. “Position the gun?—”

“I fucking know how to shoot,” I snap, careful to keep my finger away from squeezing the metal lever. “Tell me why you married me. I don’t know you. But you obviously know me. So there has to be a catch. I want to know Emilio’s angle.”

My jaw tightens at his unresponsiveness.

“I’m really not a patient person, as I’m sure you know.”

“You know his angle.”

I hate that he doesn’t speak to me and confirms it. I just need someone to fucking tell me exactly what’s going on so I don’t have to make a what-if list and figure it out the hard way.

“I want you to tell me.” Ozzy inches closer to me, but I counter it. “Don’t come near me. I don’t trust you. You could’ve murdered my whole fucking family that night. I don’t want you anywhere near me or them ever again.”

I don’t miss the shift in his weight, but nothing in his expression changes, hinting that he might be nervous or scared. “I could’ve done that already.”

---