Page 22 of Beautifully Shattered
He’s pissed. At me.
I realise I’m no longer being dragged backwards, and I can’t feel JD’s presence at my back. He’s left me to fend for myself with his best mate, and I get the feeling I should be terrified.
But I’m not.
Because I know that monster.
He’s mine.
Even as Ringo steps over the dead bodies and storms towards me like he wants to tear me to shreds, I don’t flinch.
“You could’ve gotten killed!” he snarls, and I huff.
“Youcould have gotten killed.”
His furious eyes narrow. “The fuck is wrong with you?!”
I shrug, cold and detached. “Ohhh, I don’t know. I’m kinda feeling a bit pissy since, you know,my baby died.”
Ringo shakes his head, and for a flicker of a moment, I see it in his eyes.
Disappointment.
“Thisisn’t you. You’re not this person, Angel.”
“Aren’t I?” I shrug. “Kinda feels like a good fit to me.”
A deep, menacing growl reverberates in his chest, but I ignore it and spin on my heel, walking away like the blood painting the floor means nothing.
JD and Jols are frozen, staring wide-eyed at me like I’ve grown horns.
And maybe I have.
“I assume we’re leaving now?” I snap, brushing past them and hearing JD mutter a faint, “Yeah,” like he’s not sure if he’s talking to me, or the monster I’ve become.
6
Five days. That’s all it’s been since Bobbi died, yet it feels like weeks, because every passing minute that my Angel isn’t herself is another minute I’m watching her slip further away.
She has every right to be angry. To want vengeance. To demand justice.
But I never imagined those broken words she whispered to her dead baby meant that she was literally going to take that justice into her own hands. I figured she’d want someone else to do the killing for her.
Shit.
I was expecting some sort of remorse after killing that Rebel. Tears. Guilt. Something for taking the life of another human. And while shehasfallen in a heap, it’s not because she killed that Rebel fucker.
It’s because I won’t let her leave. Because I refuse to let her go out and kill more.
“She talking to you yet?” Jols asks, handing me a steaming cup of coffee as I sit on the deck of the lake house we’ve been hiding out in.
It’s a Marx safe house, just a few doors down from Griffin’s digs.
Redfield Lake is calm. There are no boats on the water nearby. Probably because it’s fucking cold out here.
But fuck, it’s colder inside. Colder in the bedroom upstairs. The one I’m supposed to be sharing with Abbey.
“Barely.” I grunt, blowing on the steam before taking a scalding sip.
