Page 84 of King of Ruin

My shoulders drop, the sickly feeling of guilt returning stronger now as it slides down my spine. I can’t recall exactly where I hit Kane, and now I’m worried. “Where did my bullet strike him?”

Trigger answers this time, his eyes creased on the side with a smirk. “Somewhere that didn’t do much damage. I think even in your bout of rage, you knew you didn’t want to hurt him.”

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

Shi’s hand finds my shoulder. “You were angry, caught up in your head. And unfortunately for us, people in our world have a hard time using words to express that anger, and instead, tend to shoot people. And something tells me he understands that.”

A warmth swallows my face as I look at Shi. I want her to see the hurt I’m hiding, and how far gone I am. I need her to help me rid myself of this feeling of suffocating despair.

“He used me.” It’s more of a question than a statement now.

A small smile curls her lips as she shakes her head. “He didn’t.”

The certainty in her words squeezes around my heart. “How do you know?”

Shi turns and digs into the panel of the door. She pulls out a white envelope with my name written across the front. She’s slow to hand it to me, and when my fingers connect with the paper, tingles shoot up my arm.

“What’s this?”

“Something you should read when you’re ready.”

“When I’m ready?” I repeat, my eyes flashing from her to the white rectangle then back again.

She nods. “When you’re ready to accept that every story has two sides. Every person has a past. And love doesn’t make us weak.”

“I don’t love him.”

Shi purses her lips to one side. “Perhaps not. But if you did, it wouldn’t take away from your strength.”

I run my finger along the edges of the envelope and bite on the inside of my cheek. It feels like lead in my hands; the contents within so heavy, I know it will pull me under the torrential waters I’m already struggling with if I open it.

So instead, I keep it closed, clutched in my hand. It isn’t until we cross into my territory, that I decide not to open it, but to destroy it.

Because if I don’t, I know within the depths of my soul thatitwill destroyme.

Ipace the length of my office for the twenty-seventh time. Since returning to the estate, I’ve showered, dressed in black tapered slacks and a matching blazer, and adorned it with a long feather necklace. My father and Trick made it for me.

It was one of the first pieces of jewelry they made together that doubled as a weapon, which inspired Trick to make more jewelry.

My fingers trace over the blade idly as I continue to walk, my heels clicking on the marble floor. While waiting on my men to get Sam situated, I’ve gone over things and found nothing amiss. My family has done an excellent job with cleaning up the destruction the Murphys caused and simultaneously ensured that the casinos and real estate properties have run smoothly.

I was relieved to see it all for myself, and with the left over time, I’ve allowed myself a moment to think. To process. To jot down all the different ways I want to kill Sam. At first, I considered making it quick. Perhaps slicing open his stomach and pulling out his innards with the grace of a harpist.

Now, though, because I’m without both SamandPhineas, I’ve decided to make it last. To savor every drop of blood he spills, along with every tear and ounce of sweat. I want his screams and his agony. His vomit and then the bile when there’s nothing left.

I want him to make false promises as he begs for me to release him. Then later, when he understands I won't, I want the whimpers of a man who thinks I’m finally going to grant him the sweet relief of death, only to realize I’m not.

Kane may pride himself on making peace with his demons, but I have not.

And it won’t be until I’ve had my fill, and Sam’s body is cold and without a single iota of blood left, that I’ll relent. That I’ll allow him his journey to hell.

A shadow growing outside my office doors makes me pause. My breath becomes stilted, the air suddenly thin as the dark blur takes on a familiar silhouette of one of my boys.

Anticipation works through my bloodstream, and I find I’m holding my breath. But then, what should be a singular person, is a wheelchair, followed by Trick.

A fierce burn spreads across both my chest and face as the office doors open, revealing the remnants of a man I haven’t seen sit still since childhood. Already, too many things have transpired in the past week, and seeing Kilo like this only chips away at my very carefully constructed composure.

I watch quietly as Trick pushes the chair inside and I absorb my brother’s condition. Kilo’s white hair is mussed, strands facing every direction as though he just took off a helmet. Superficial cuts that are already fading decorate his arms and parts of his face. There’s also a hollowness in his eyes with accompanying shadows, displaying his lack of sleep.

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