Page 59 of Ricochet
I kissed her cheek and released her neck, slowly walking toward the door.
“We will see about that.”
How doyou kill the part of your heart that still loves the person that destroyed you? Sometimes it felt like another life, another me and another him, but the pain was always the same. I thought I parted with that piece of him embedded in my soul. I thought I eradicated every single particle of him I used to love. How was it possible to hate a person, but to want them so much, that I had a feeling my skin would catch on fire at the mere sight of him?
We used to be beautiful together, almost perfect, but we became so tragic, so violent. Were the two of us born to destroy, or were we made that way? Did our actions shape us, or was there something inside, pulling us to the darker side?
Destruction.
That’s what we were. A pure and utter destruction, and we didn’t know how to stop. I wasn’t even sure anymore who pushed who to the brink of insanity. Was it ever love or was it just an innate need to possess the other one? To own them, body and soul, until the only thing left was a shell of a person they used to be. The Kieran I knew when I was a mere teenager wasn’t the person standing next to his brothers, looking at my tied-up body. Actually, I probably never really knew him.
Truth is, he never knew me either.
He thought saving me from my demons would exorcise his. He thought he needed to save me, but I only needed him to accept me. When did we become so fucked up, we couldn’t see anything else but our need for destruction? Not that I minded. Destruction and chaos were beautiful. So infinite, mesmerizing, it always gave me a power I never knew I needed.
But I never knew that my darkness would diminish his light.
Was I the instrument that finally pushed him over the ledge, into the black hole he was still living in? Funnily, he was the one that pushed me, so it would only be fair for me to be the one that pushed him. Right?
I almost wanted to laugh at the three of them, standing in front of me, looking like avenging angels. Men always thought they were smarter, more powerful, nondestructive, but the truth was always more bitter than what they could swallow. They were usually puppets controlled by somebody else.
And that’s what Nightingale brothers became over the years. Just three sad puppets controlled by their father. Three sad excuses of humans that never really got rid of the shackles placed on them by their family. They looked so smug, so proud of themselves thinking they got me where they wanted me. If only they knew.
About an hour ago, Alejandro took me from the room, blindfolded, and I ended up here. What in the ever-loving fuck were they discussing for almost an hour, I had no idea, but I was getting fucking bored. My hands were getting numb. There was the spot on my nose I was dying to scratch, and well, drinking copious amounts of water before this didn’t seem like a good idea now, because my bladder was killing me.
“So.” I cleared my throat, and three sets of eyes zeroed in on me. “Do I get a last meal or whatever it is they are giving to prisoners sentenced to death?”
Tristan rubbed his temples, and Cillian started pacing around, like a wild animal locked inside a cage. Well, I mean, he was kinda locked inside a cage, the only difference was, I was the wild animal. Kieran’s eyes flashed with rage, and he closed the short distance between the two of us, leaning in my face.
Come on, baby.
Give it to me. Show me what you’re made of. Show me what I made you —all of the shit you’re hiding beneath that calm composure you’re trying to fool people with.
“The only thing you’ll get, little birdy,” he swiped the hair from my face, and continued, “is a six-foot grave behind this house, and a world freed from your psychotic presence.”
“Awww, baby,” I licked my lips and grinned at him, “you didn’t have to. Did you dig it yourself? Does it have flowers around it? It better not have any flowers, because you know how much I hate them.”
“Fucking psycho,” Tristan murmured loud enough for me to hear.
“What was that, Tris? A psycho?” I leaned to the side, looking behind Kieran. “Why, thank you. It took you long enough to figure it all out. I mean, not that I blame you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tristan snarled through gritted teeth.
Kieran took a step back, but I could still feel the anger radiating off of him. Just a sad, little fuck who always had to control his emotions. Never reckless, never the wild one, I was surprised he didn’t get constipated from all the self-righteousness he was trying to fake. When we were fifteen, Ava told me her brother loved girls with personality.
Lucky him, years later, he got me with multiple ones.
“I mean, darling, you were never the brightest one.”Come on, come on, come closer.“I told you already, Kieran was the brain behind every operation, Cillian, my little fellow psychopath,” I chanced a glance at him, and loved the turmoil on his face, “was the killing machine. And you,” I let my eyes travel over his body, from head to toe, “were more like a lamb that could never get anything right.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
He was suddenly in front of me, with his hands wrapped around my neck. What was it with all of these people trying to choke the life out of me? Don’t get me wrong, I loved choking sessions, but, don’t get me wet if you wouldn’t do anything about it. This one, he was the only one that had some resemblance of a conscience, and I was planning on using it.
“Oh please, Tristan,” I cried out, faking panic. “Please, please, please, don’t hurt me. I didn’t do it. I didn’t do anything wrong. Please, I’m begging you. Don’t hurt me.”
Men.
They were always so easily manipulated when a female started begging for her life, and Tristan did exactly what I wanted him to do. He let me go, a shocked look on his face following the trail. This was why he sucked in executing orders. Feeling anything but cold indifference toward the person you were supposed to kill, could end up killing you, and why the fuck would you want that?
