I double checked the gun wasn’t loaded even though I was sure Saint had done so, but my dad always said you could never be too careful with weapons and I definitely didn’t want to risk this going horribly wrong.
I climbed onto the bed, walking over him until I was standing with my feet on either side of his waist then I lifted the gun and aimed it at his head.
I took a breath, readying to scare the living hell out of him. “Blake wake up!” I screamed and he jerked awake, a shout of alarm escaping him as he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. I pulled the trigger and he flinched full bodily as the click resounded through the air.
“What the fuck!?” he roared at me.
The bathroom door suddenly flew open and Kyan leapt through the air, tackling me so I slammed onto the bed under his full weight.
“Kyan!” I yelled as he looked at me through half open eyes, still almost freaking asleep. His hands locked around my throat, but as he realised it was me, his whole body relaxed.
“Jesus fuck.” He snatched the gun from my grip with a growl then threw it at the wall. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!” he bellowed in my face, shifting off of me and pulling me to sit up.
Blake sat looking at me like a wounded animal, his eyes wild and pulse hammering visibly at his throat.
“It wasn’t loaded,” I hissed and Kyan opened his mouth to retort, but Blake punched his arm.
“Get out of here, man. I deserved it anyway.”
Kyan’s gaze shifted to him and some sort of silent communication passed between them where he finally nodded and slid off the bed.
“How’d you even wake up anyway? You sleep like the freaking dead,” I muttered and Kyan paused by the door.
“Heard you scream.” He shrugged. “I guess even the dead would wake for you, baby. Better check the crypt for zombies.” He stalked back into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him and then we had to listen to him peeing for several long seconds. I didn’t know whether to be offended or flattered by what he’d said.
Blake caught my hand and dragged me into his lap, making me gasp in surprise. I knew we were breaking another rule, but I didn’t pull away, confused as to why he suddenly wanted me close. He reached out to run his thumb across my cheek with emotion warring in his eyes. “I am so fucking, deeply sorry for taking you out to that grave. I don’t think I ever would have done it…I hope not anyway…I really fucking hope not.” He looked away from me, his brow creasing and I could see how much he was beating himself up over this.
“You didn’t do it, Blake. So I guess that’s your answer. But I know a part of you wanted to,” I said, my throat too tight.
I didn’t know if it was right to have this conversation while I sat in his lap with his arms folded around me, but somehow when I looked into his eyes these days, all I could see was the goodness of his soul. The man he truly was, not the broken creature who’d wanted to steal my life away. It didn’t make it okay. Maybe nothing would ever make it okay. But understanding his pain was the only way I could find a way to make peace with it. That and pointing a gun at his head so he knew how I had felt. It admittedly did make me feel a bit better. Not that I would have done it if it was loaded, but still…
“I hate myself for the thought even crossing my mind that day. I’m not who I thought I was,” he said, his tone rough and full of pain.
I skimmed my knuckles down the side of his face and he looked up at me with a sigh. There was a darkness in his eyes that scared me, a hollowness that he rarely showed lately, but was still ever-present, lurking beneath the mask he wore.
He gripped me more firmly. “Sometimes I think that we’re in hell already, doomed to live a life of suffering as we lose those we love one by one. Where every time something good comes along, the world is ripped out from under our feet and we’re cast into a storm of despair. Hope is the cruellest gift of life. Without it, we’re nothing but lost souls in a frozen sea. But with it, we want for more, dream of something better. But what if it’s never coming?”
“Don’t say that.” I angled his face up to meet my gaze and looked directly into the wound inside him that bled as freshly as if I had planted a bullet in him.
“It’s the truth, Tate,” he said with a sad smile. “It’s all fucked in the end. I dunno if I wanna stay around that long to see it.”
I leaned down with a tug in my chest, touching my lips to his and he reared up to meet me, his hands gripping my waist and making the T-shirt I was wearing ride up over my thighs. “I want your torture,” he growled against my mouth. “I want to be made to suffer for what I’ve done to you.”
I clutched the back of his neck, my legs slipping around his waist as I turned towards him. Part of me wanted to refuse, but his fervent, angry kiss said he meant it. He wanted to burn at the stake for his crimes. And I still had a lot to
