Page 91 of Our Violent Ends
Roma’s grip tightened on Alisa. He looked between Juliette and his cousin, his brow furrowing, still unable to erase the shock in his expression.
“What?” he managed faintly. His eyes shot to the corpses on the ground. “Tell me what?”
Juliette rose to her feet. It was a shaky effort. It was that feeling in dreams when she couldn’t push up from the ground, her bones as heavy as metal.
Only before Juliette could respond, she was interrupted by another voice—one that came from above, from the roof of the building pressing in on the alleyway.
“That she beat me to the shot.”
A blur of motion landed before her with athump. Marshall Seo turned smoothly, as if he had not leaped down two stories, tugging off the cloth around his face and offering Roma a small smile.
Roma stared. And stared, and stared, and stared.
Then he ran at Marshall and hugged him so tightly that he had to thump his friend’s back to work off his excess energy. Marshall hugged Roma just as enthusiastically in return, not at all minding the attack.
“You died,” Roma gasped. “I saw you die.”
“Yes,” Marshall replied simply, “Juliette tried very hard to make sure of that.”
Suddenly, Roma released Marshall, his eyes snapping to Juliette. She could feel her distress emanating off her skin like a visible aura. She didn’t know how to stand or where to place her hands, didn’t know whether it was appropriate to try to rub the blood off or if she was to pretend she wasn’t occupying an alley with three White Flowers while all her Scarlets lay dead around her.
Roma’s mouth opened. Before he could demand an explanation, Juliette was already speaking, her eyes turned back to her hands. She couldn’t—couldn’tlook at him.
“I had to.” Her voice cracked. “Tyler had to see your hatred. He would have destroyed us if he knew I—” Juliette broke off, her red fingers scrunching into fists. She hardly needed to elaborate. They had heard her. They all heard what she’d said to Tyler.
“Juliette.”
Juliette looked up. She lifted her chin and faked bravery, faked it like she faked every damn thing in her life—all to survive, and for what? To piece together some pathetic excuse of living surrounded by material goods and not a single shred of happiness. Her heart had never felt so heavy.
“It doesn’t matter,” Juliette said. “He can’t hurt us now, can he?”
Juliette turned away and started to walk. She could feel it—the shaking was already starting in her hands, and soon the tremors would shudder her chest, consume her whole body. She needed to leave before she couldbreak, before her mind started to circle exactly what she had done here and how she would explain this away.
Tyler was dead. Tyler’s men were dead. The only person left to spin the tale was Juliette. She could say whatever she wanted, and the thought felt too big for her to comprehend.
“Juliette.”
Footsteps thundered after her. She picked up her pace a moment too late, a touch coming upon her wrist. Only as soon as Roma grabbed her arm, a horrific sound came from outside the alley, from North Suzhou Road, near the wide creek. They both ducked at once, heads turning toward the source.
“What was that?” Benedikt demanded. “Was that gunfire?”
The sound came again: a spray of bullets moving even closer. Like phantoms materializing from the mists, three men suddenly ran across the mouth of the alley—quickly enough that they did not sight Roma and Juliette standing there, but not so quick that Juliette couldn’t sight the red rags tied around their arms. It all seemed to happen in seconds. Where it had been quiet, the roads suspiciously empty like its business occupants were taking the day off, the city suddenly roared to life: shouting at every corner, and gunfire. Constant gunfire.
“It’s happening,” Juliette said in disbelief. Today was the twenty-first of March, by the Western calendar. “Revolution.”
“Where are they? Where are Juliette and Tyler?”
Kathleen peered down the second-floor banister, frowning at the sudden commotion. The front door slammed and the volume in the foyer increased, voices shouting atop one another. Lady Cai seemed to be giving instructions, but with so many other people speaking too, she had grown inaudible.
Kathleen hurried down the stairs. “What’s going on?” she asked.
Nobody paid her any attention. Lady Cai continued giving orders, her posture stick straight, her arms gesticulating—grouping men together and sending them out the door as if she were merely conducting some orchestral show.
“Niangniang.” Kathleen slid herself right in front of Lady Cai. At any other time, she would never have dared. Right now, the house was in so much chaos that her aunt couldn’t tell her off. “Please. Tell me what is happening.”
Lady Cai tried to brush Kathleen aside.
“Communists are acting against Kuomintang instructions for patience,” she said distractedly. “Separate uprisings are happening across the city in an attempt to take Shanghai for the Northern Expedition.” It was then that Lady Cai cocked her head, looking at Kathleen properly. “Aren’t you our inside source on this business?”
