He might as well be tightening a noose around his neck.
“Stop it! You’re killing him!” I shout.
“You will be given an audience with the governor within seventy-two hours—at which point, you may defend yourself against the charges being brought against you.”
I glance up at Wes’s face, expecting to find panic mirroring my own, but for once, his pale mossy eyes aren’t analyzing or angry or guarded or cold. They’re just sad.
Sad and so, so sorry.
“Eyewitness testimony and evidence collected at the scene of the crime will be taken into consideration,” the officer drones on, ignoring me as he continues his speech, but Mrs. Renshaw gives me her full attention.
“Rainbow, let go!” she hisses, taking a step toward me. “This man is a danger to everyone in the community. One day, you’ll see—”
“You’re killing him!” I scream again, this time directing my rage at the woman standing next to the officer. I’ve never wanted to hit anyone so badly in my life, but my hands won’t let go of Wes.
I can’t let go of Wes.
Instead, I wrap my arms around his shoulders, bury my face in his chest, and scream directly into the thick flesh and thin cotton separating me from his heart.
How many beats does it have left?
How many would it have had if he’d never met me?
Wes presses his lips to the top of my head as my lungs finally run out of air, and it breaks me all the way.
Because I know this kiss. I know all of his kisses.
Wes is trying to comfort me.
But who’s going to comfort him?
“Ramirez? You need backup?” a gruff voice calls from my open doorway.
“Yeah. Looks like we got a stage five clinger.”
“Ma’am,” the second officer snaps, “I’m gonna need you to let go of the suspect and step aside.”
I hear the order, but I don’t look up or even acknowledge it. It doesn’t matter anyway. I couldn’t let go of Wesson Patrick Parker if I tried.
And I’ve been trying for weeks.
“Ma’am, this is your final warning. I will not ask you again. Let go of the suspect and put your hands on your head.”
“Rainbow! Let go!” Mrs. Renshaw yells.
“Let go, baby,” Wes whispers into my hair. “I love you so fucking much. Just do what they say, okay?”
But I can’t. His shirt is so soft. His chest, so warm. His heart, so steady and strong where it pounds against my cheek. I clutch his shoulders tighter and stifle a sob as I press up onto my toes and kiss his worried mouth. Wes’s bottom lip pulls free from his teeth just before it collides with mine. Then, he stills, holding the moment along with his breath.
He doesn’t kiss me like our time is running out.
He kisses me like it’s already up.
And he’s right. Because before I have a chance to whisper that I love him too—before I can say goodbye to the man who taught me how to live—fifty thousand volts of electricity say it for me, seizing my muscles and bringing me to my knees.
Wes
The feeling of Rain’s body seizing against mine, the helplessness of watching her tumble to the floor at my feet—my handcuffed arms unable to catch her convulsing body—it destroys whatever’s left of me.
As the officer drags me toward the front door, I feel my soul, my heart, my fucking will to live disappearing with every step I take. They don’t belong to me anymore. Honestly, they never did. They belong to the little black-haired rag doll twitching on the floor back there.
By the time that asshole shoves me down the front steps, the crushing pressure in my chest is reduced to a hollow ache—just phantom pains from my amputated heart. By the time we get to his pig mobile, I hardly remember having feelings at all. And by the time he shoves me inside and slams the door, I’ve gone completely … fucking … numb.
I was never meant to get the girl. To have the happily ever after. That’s not how my world works, and this shit right here is proof. Rain has shelter, a means of self-defense, and money to get supplies. There’s nothing left for me to do. My girl—and my kid, if my suspicions are right—are going to have as good a life as anyone could hope for post–April 23.
And me?
In a few days, I’ll be fucking fertilizer, and I won’t have to feel this shit at all.
Rain
“Sweetheart, I did you a favor. I did all of us a favor. One day, you’ll see.
“Are you really expecting, dear? How long has it been since you got your cycle?
“A baby! Oh my goodness. What a blessing!
“Don’t you worry. Mama Renshaw’s gonna help you every step of the way. And Carter—oh, he’s gonna be such a good daddy.
“I’m gonna be a grandma!
“Sit up, child. I got you some water.”
When I don’t comply, Mrs. Renshaw cuts the happy rambling and switches into high school administrator mode. “Rainbow, sit up,” she hisses, snapping her fingers at me. “Don’t be so dramatic. I know you think you loved that man, but in time, you’ll realize that you only got attached to him because you’d just lost your folks. He was a monster, dear. You saw what he did to my sweet Carter. We’re all safer with him gone.”
“You’re the monster.” The words aren’t much louder than a whisper as they leak out of my parted lips and dribble down my cheek onto the hardwood floor.
“Excuse me?”
I swallow, tasting blood and feeling pulses of pain radiating from one side of my tongue. I must have bitten it during the tasing.
“You’re the monster,” I repeat, clearing my throat.
I don’t open my eyes. Don’t lift my head. I’m in the same sloppy fetal position I ended up in after the volts hit me, and I don’t plan on
