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I hate his touch. I don’t want this.
“Who is he, Mariah?” Teeth scrape against my skin and I shudder; I feel disgusted, and sadness fills my chest. Lane isn’t giving me another out, and I close my eyes. “How long have you been fucking him behind my back?”
“Don’t force my hand, Lane. Please leave.”
“How fucking long!” he screams and snaps his teeth over my neck. His bite hurts. It burns as the stupid man breaks the skin.
“Forgive me.” And on my next breath, I shove the broken, jagged glass into his neck. Push it in a little deeper before he can step back and scream out from the shock and pain.
Lane stumbles, his hand coming up to his chest, not paying attention to me. I kick him. With all the strength I have, I land my foot on his chest and run to the front door.
He’s grunting; I hear him stumble and the crash of something glass. Then his footsteps come near, and it’s as I make it to the entryway table and grab my Glock that he appears in my line of sight.
He takes a step my way and I remove the safety, pointing the barrel at his chest. “Stop.” My voice is shaky, my emotions threatening to overtake me as I let the first few tears fall. “Last chance.”
Lane laughs, the action causing blood to spurt and stain my floor. “You wouldn’t.”
“Leave.”
“Not before I kill you.” And he means it. The hate in his eyes sears me. The threat isn’t without intent; his position as next in line for the Molly empire his father built makes him a dangerous man with the means to do just that.
It’s why our union interested both his family and mine. My father to be precise.
The Asher’s don’t need them, but I won’t deny that they’re useful at times.
Then, everything happens fast. One second, I’m swallowing back a sob, and the next, I’m pulling the trigger four times. Two to the chest. Two to the stomach.
Lane falls back on impact, his head banging against the archway behind him and groans. Blood quickly pools, and his shirt is proof of how little time he has left.
The gun slips from my hand and I walk over, kneeling beside his head, and push the hair back. His eyes are still aware—wide and scared.
“Ivan is De Leon’s youngest son, Lane. He sent a basket to everyone who worked on clearing their money and file, not just me.” My tears fall on his cheek, and his expression fills with remorse. “I never cheated.”
“I’m sorry.” It’s low and hoarse. Our eyes stay locked for a few minutes, but then his close and don’t reopen. His chest no longer rises and falls. He’s gone.
“I am too.”
“Are you okay?” someone says, and I snap back to the present, pushing back the thoughts I’ve fought to bury. Lane was my first and only boyfriend. My first kill.
Did I love him? No. Not a single part of me belonged to him—not like a woman loves her man—but regret still lingers over my actions and stupidity to stay and please others. To make him happy while I became wary and miserable.
I should’ve broken it off before then.
I should’ve seen that Lane needed help.
I should’ve, but didn’t.
His demons had nothing to do with me, and yet, I became his focus and allowed it to go that far.
My eyes focus on the person in front of me, and I’m shocked it’s Javier. “How did you find me? Are you stalking me?” The latter leaves me in an accusatory tone, which causes his brow to raise.
“No. I’m not.”
“Then how...” my words trail off as I look behind him and realize where I am. I’m back outside of the Asher building, a few steps from the door, and have no recollection of how I arrived. Squinting a bit, I make out the receptionist and she’s looking at me from her desk with concern stretched across her face. “Christ, I’m a mess today.”
“Just today?” Javier jokes, his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it. I didn’t realize it was there, nor do I know where I went or how long I’ve been standing here. “Hey, look at me.”
“I’m heading back inside.” I rebuff him, shrugging his hand off. His touch, no matter how small, feels good, and it’s for the best I keep him at bay.
