Page 108 of Pride
I felt wetness pooling against my chest, and I tried to breath, I tried to gasp, but I couldn’t.
I was frozen.
Holding my brother in my arms...
for the very last time.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
EMMA
It felt like forever that I sat still and stared at them, dumbfounded, shocked, numb with fear and insurmountable grief until, one of them moved, rolling onto his back, groaning.
I held my breath as he ran his hands over his face and then he sat up. Tears streamed down my already damp cheeks when I saw the face of the man I loved.
That’s right, I loved him.
My Alex.
Not Arran’s, but mine.
I could see blood on his white shirt, and I gave a muffled cry, but he didn’t hear me. He was in a haunted daze, stunned and staring down at Arran, who lay there with crimson billowing from his chest where the gunshot had hit.
Alex reached forward and touched his brother’s cheek, a caress as if to say goodbye. Then he hung his head and brushed his hand over his brother’s face to force his eyelids closed.
He leaned down to whisper something to him, then sat back and throwing his head back he let out a scream, howling to the night sky in pain.
I knew what had happened tonight would haunt him forever. His brother was a tortured soul, but Alex still loved him. Andafter hearing their story, I knew his guilt would go with him to his grave. The battle might be over, but the war would never be won. It was a fight that was unconquerable. There were no winners here today.
Alex knelt beside his brother for a while, sitting in silent respect for the life that he’d lost, the childhood he’d been robbed of, and the future he’d destroyed.
Then, with a heavy sigh that I felt in my heart, he pushed himself to stand.
He walked over to me with hurt in his eyes and the weight of regret evident in the slump of his shoulders. When he reached me, he knelt down and pulled my head into his chest, kissing me as he whispered, “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
He held me for a few seconds, rocking me in his arms. Then he took a deep breath and lifted his head. “Let me get this off you,” he said, pulling the tape off my ankles first.
Then he moved to my wrists, hissing when he saw the blood oozing over my hands from the deep cuts of the plastic. He didn’t have a knife, so he leaned down and bit through the tie, then kissed my bloody wrists, whispering more apologies.
Finally, he pulled the tape from around my head and mouth, moving slowly and with care, so as not to pull my hair or hurt me.
And when my mouth was free, I sucked in lungfuls of air, then gasped, “I’m so sorry, Alex. I’m so sorry.”
Alex hugged me, telling me, “You don’t need to say sorry.”
But I felt like I did, and I cried as I told him, “I love you. I’m so sorry and I love you.”
He started to cry too, as he buried his head in my neck and whispered, “I love you too.”
We clung to each other, and I wished the whole gruesome scene around us would fade away. That we could escape this life. Transport ourselves away from it all and just disappear.
But we couldn’t.
His brother’s body lay behind us, a horrific reminder of what we’d endured tonight, and I told him, “We need to call the police.”
But Alex shook his head.
“No. No police. I don’t want them involved. No police. No inquiry. No trial. No circus. No newspaper reports. Nothing.”
