Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
They hit each other, blow after blow. I watch my brother and my husband pummel themselves into bloody corpses. Finn’s breathing hard, crashing his fist into Shane’s wrecked nose again and again, but Shane’s not stopping. He strikes back, his fists like hammers.
I can’t watch this anymore. I run across the room and look at the door. I can get out. I can escape. But just as I think about doing it, Shane latches onto Finn and pulls him into a headlock, his beefy arm pressed up against Finn’s throat.
My husband gags and thrashes, but even drugged, Shane’s an unstoppable nightmare.
My legs move. Years of hate drag me forward. I find the wine bottle, grab it by the neck, and whip it around. I smash it with all my force straight onto Shane’s head. It shatters, spilling more red all over both Shane and Finn. Several glass shards stick into Shane’s scalp. He grunts and releases Finn, lolling sideways.
Finn seizes a long shard of glass, twists to face my brother, and drives it deep into Shane’s neck. His eyes are bright with hate, his lips pulled into a snarl. “You should’ve killed me all those years ago,” he hisses in Shane’s face. “You should’ve killed me, you piece of shit. Now I’m going to watch the light go out, you fucking bastard. I hope it hurts. I hope it’s slow. I hope you fucking suffer.”
Shane tries weakly to get Finn off. He tries to talk, but it comes out a bloody gurgle. His life pumps from the wound as Finn stabs him again, and again, and again, vicious and unrelenting. I watch, unable to move. Finn rips Shane into pieces until finally, Shane collapses back, going limp.
The room’s dead quiet. Finn’s panting. His face is a mess. There’s blood, wine, and whiskey everywhere. Shane’s barely human. He’s been beaten and stabbed until he resembles a mutilated corpse.
I bend over and puke on the floor. I retch, heaving, once, twice, three times.
My brother’s dead. My abuser’s gone. And I just helped my husband do it.
“Well, that didn’t go as planned.” Finn climbs to his feet. He’s practically glowing with triumph. “We should leave before there’s trouble.”
“Fuck,” I say, wiping my mouth. “What the fuck?”
“I appreciate the help back there. But I was about to shoot him in the knee.” Finn flashes me the gun he had in his waistband, grinning.
“You bastard. You had a gun the whole time?”
“Didn’t feel very sporting to use it.” Finn puts a hand on the small of my back. “Come on, baby. We have to go.”
I slide away from him. “You told me it was poison.”
“I did?”
“You said he’d die fast. You said if he drank the wine, that would be it.”
He tilts his head side to side. “I might’ve exaggerated.” There are angry male voices down the hallway. Finn takes my arm tightly. “Come on, time to run.”
I let him drag me out there. I’m sick and shaking. I have to kick my heels off to keep up, but we manage to get out down the back passage, through the kitchen exit, and out into the night where Liam’s waiting with a car. Finn’s friend doesn’t even blink at the state of him.
“Messy job?” Liam asks happily.
“Messy but successful.” Finn sighs, leaning his head back. “Exactly how I like it.”
16
CAROLINE
The shower water scalds my skin. I scrub and scrub but I can’t seem to make the lingering feeling of Shane’s hand on my ass go away. I close my eyes and see Finn gleefully stabbing my brother in the neck. Blood everywhere. It’s somehow still under my fingernails and I don’t even remember touching it.
If there’s a hell, I’m going. I’ve never been religious though. When I was young, I found it hard to believe in a God who would ignore what was happening to me every day.
Now I wonder.
I had the chance to be better. I could’ve moved on with my life.
Instead, I’m exactly like them.
I’m a murderer.
I didn’t do the actual killing—that was Finn—but I helped.
I’m as responsible for my brother’s death as he is.
The sickest part is I don’t feel sorry Shane’s gone. I hate the way it happened, and I’m pretty sure my soul’s stained forever, but I’m happy my brother’s dead. I can imagine the string of broken and hurt women he left in his wake over the years. I’m sure there are more than a few dead girlfriends and prostitutes in the ground because of him. He was going to kill me if Finn hadn’t come in and stopped him.
I don’t want to be a murderer. But I’m happy Shane’s a bloodstain on a carpet.
My phone rings as I’m getting dressed. We’ve been home for a few hours. Finn’s upstairs by the pool drinking and dealing with his own trauma. I have only the smallest inkling of what he’s feeling right now.