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)
“Yes, someone was,” Mom answers and looks over at me. “I got very, very lucky.”
Although she’ll still need a couple days of observation to make sure none of her internal injuries are bad.
Redmond didn’t survive the accident. Nobody’s sure how the generator ignited, but Dad furiously screamed at the site manager for an hour and demanded a full investigation from the police. Once it’s clear Mom’s going to be fine, Finn takes me back home.
“They’ll find the fuel lines were faulty. Somehow the entire gas tank ignited all at once. Catastrophic failure, they’ll say. I bet your dad can sue the generator’s manufacturer and win a nice settlement.”
“Here’s hoping he never gets the chance.”
“Won’t bring Redmond back.” Finn stretches one arm behind his head. It’s been a full day since my second brother died. I spent most of it in the hospital and I’m completely exhausted, but I’m also buzzing with energy.
“No, it definitely won’t.”
“Even if the generator hadn’t gone up, I have a feeling that hammer already killed him.”
I look down at my lap. I’m holding a glass of wine. It’s dark red and much thicker than blood. I take a long sip and sigh.
“I should feel bad. I mean, I killed him. Not in some, like, abstract way. I didn’t push a button or give him poison. I hit him in the face with a tool.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“He was my brother.”
“But he deserved so much worse.” Finn scoots his chair closer until our shoulders are practically touching. The pool is quiet. The underwater lights bend and shift through the water. It’s peaceful in our little dome.
“I just… I should feel bad, but I don’t. That’s wrong, right? What kind of person am I if I don’t feel guilty for murdering my own brother? There’s got to be evil in me.”
“You’re a survivor. You’re strong. You saved your mother’s life. You think he was going to stop kicking her? She’s an old woman, for fuck’s sake, and he was beating her to death.”
“I know.” I blow out air and close my eyes. I can see Red doing it all over again, and it makes me sick. How long had he been abusing our own mother like that? Years, I’d bet, as long as he’s been able. And he’s been big since he was fifteen. “But I still keep waiting for a change. Like with Shane, I couldn’t stop feeling awful. Now though, it’s like… I’m used to it.”
His hand rests lightly on my leg. I look at it, drink my wine, and lean into him. My shoulder presses into his arm.
“Every time you think you should feel bad, look in the mirror. Look at the scars on your thighs. Look at them on your back and your arms. Remember what they did to you. Remember how they laughed and said it was for your own good. Don’t you dare think you should’ve done anything different, because I promise, Caroline, none of your brothers would’ve spared your life.”
I meet his gaze, and I know he’s right. How fucked is that? How wicked and wrong? I drink my wine, set the glass down, and touch his cheek. I press myself closer until my mouth finds his.
I kiss him softly at first. More exploratory than anything. But hunger floods me when his hand presses into the small of my back. This here, even if it’s fake and won’t last the death of my family, it’s the most alive I’ve ever felt. Until I met Finn, I was happy cleaning houses and hiding away in my shitty apartment. I was living under the shadow of my brothers, trapped in the memory of my abuse. I was small, scared, and pathetic.
Now I’m starting to wake up. I feel like I’m crawling along a beach, desperately struggling toward a deep, black ocean. It’s still miles off, but now I’m moving, and I can’t stop and I can’t look back. There’s only forward.
Finn grips my hair and I move to straddle him. I kick over his glass. It shatters nearby, but he pulls my mouth to his anyway. “We’ll get that later,” he whispers before his tongue slides along mine.
I grind down into my husband. The chair rattles against the concrete. I kiss him harder, whimpering into his touch, feeling needy and scared and elated all at once. I killed Redmond with a hammer. I broke his face and mashed him until he was pulp. I did that to him, that bastard, I did it and I don’t feel bad about it.
Maybe that makes me a monster. I just don’t care.
Finn cups my breasts and breathes in my smell. My core tightens at the eager smirk on his face. This man loves touching me more than anything in the world. It’s addictive, the way he growls and murmurs how good I taste and how much he loves sinking deep inside of me.