Page 76 of A Light in the Darkness
And then out of the corner of my eye, I see Claire moving forward.
Watching the two of them side-by-side is weird, to say the least. Their backs are to Wes and I, and Victor has just pulled himself to his feet from where he was in the corner vomiting his stomach contents since Violet’s first stab. Claire doesn’t look at her sister as she holds her hand out for the scalpel, which is hanging loosely between Violet’s bloody fingers.
I move slowly, rotating myself to get a look at Claire’s face, to see if there’s any emotion there as she takes the medical blade. But she doesn’t so much as blink as she gets a grip on it, lifts Addison’s head by the hair, and draws the blade across her exposed throat.
It’s effortless, beautiful in a macabre way. Most of the blood has already drained from Addison’s head, but whatever was left falls to the ground at the girls’ feet, pulled down by gravity now that her heart has definitely stopped beating. The bit that splashes up onto my face is already cold… but maybe that’s just because she was a cold-blooded snake to begin with.
Claire hands the blade back to Violet without a single word, and when her eyes lock with mine, none are necessary.
“Let’s get you home.”
“Wait!” Victor moves so fast toward us, that finally I see the first signs of something from Claire as she cringes away from him. It emboldens me to wrap an arm around her, and she doesn’t fight it. “Claire…”
I’m not sure what Victor thinks he can possibly say that would have any meaning at all right now, and apparently, neither is he.
“Not now,” I tell him with a curt shake of my head.
I understand his desire to build a bridge… but right now, we’re not building them.
We’re burning them.
Chapter forty-five
Claire
We strip down on the porch, shedding our murder clothes.
It’s significantly less messy than the last time we killed someone together—and the last time I killed someone on my own. I don’t think changing was even really necessary, but we are back in the states, so whatever deal Remy had with Costa Rican authorities to look the other way doesn’t apply here. The senator’s wife isn’t exactly a nobody. Surely, someone will notice she’s gone, and they’ll ask questions. How will they dispose of the body?
Remy handed me a change of clothes before I’d undressed—it’s an exact match to what I just peeled off.
“So the security footage at the hotel doesn’t register an outfit change.” He explains, glancing up at me as he tugs his own pants up his hips. His stomach is bare and hard sculpted, the muscles under his smooth skin taut. Whatever he’s been doing in the months since I left him, it suits him.
Somehow, he’s gotten more attractive. I recognize his beauty—the exquisite shape of him, the cut of his jaw, the curve of his lips. He’s a work of art, but the draw that I used to feel for him, for Rhea, for life in general? It’s just… gone.
Everything is gone, and it should terrify me, but that’s gone too.
Remy watches my face like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in my head, and then his eyes dip to take me in. For a moment, I’d forgotten where we were, what I was doing. And then I watch him pry his eyes from me to glance behind him at the door to the house, where the senator, Wes, and my sister are still inside.
He approaches me slowly, looking like he’s fighting to keep from saying something, and I don’t move as he does. I just let him come to me, watch him cross the porch as the wind shakes the trees in the distance. But the air between us is static, warm and calm as he steps against me, his body aligning with mine. He tilts his head down at the same time he grabs my chin gently between his fingers and tips my head back.
I expect that when his lips land on mine, it will be passionate and electric, that his kiss will be desperate, that he’ll try to devour me. I expect he’ll try to awaken me with all our old tricks.
Instead, he brushes his mouth gently over mine, his soft lips placing a pillowy kiss on my own, parting them for him. His tongue slides against mine, almost experimentally, and an unexpected shiver breaks over me. That doesn’t seem to have any effect upon him, though, because he doesn’t stop or speed up… he takes his time tasting me, savoring me, and when his tongue slips from mine, his lips work against mine for a minute. Slow, steady, sweet.
Maybe for the first time, there’s no need, no urgency or lust in our kiss. And I say our kiss, because after he retreats, I don’t let go. I kiss him back, not ready to let go of the warmth he’s given me, the fluttering of something deep in my stomach, gentle and timid, but there all the same.
Remy is the one who breaks the kiss. His lips part from mine but with his forehead pressed against mine, we still share the same air, his warm breath ghosting on my wet lips.
Neither of us pull apart.
It’s just him and I, two broken people in a perfect moment.
The silence on the way home is peaceful, soothing my soul. Some of the weight of the last few days falls away, little by little.
When we get back to the hotel, he leads me to our suite with an arm around my shoulder all the way to the elevator. Once there, he lets go.
His knuckles brush against mine just lightly enough to be by mistake, but when I glance at him, he’s watching me closelyenough that I think maybe itwasintentional. I let the back of my hand touch his, focusing on the simple sensation of this single point of contact.
