Stepbrother Thief(132)

“I've got her, babe,” she slurs, appearing in the doorway as Gilleon moves away from me with a finality that scares the shit out of me. No. No. No. They exchange a look of their own, and even with the damage to her face, I can see the same resigned melancholy in Aveline's expression. “I'll take care of her, Gill. You have my word.”

Take care of me?

That sounds … an awful lot like Gill's giving up. But he's not, right? He has a plan, doesn't he?

With a nod, Gill steps away from me and I follow, only to find Kayla's fingers wrapped around my upper arm. Surprisingly, she leaves the revolver in my hand. Luckily for me, she's not as smart or as perceptive as my stepbrother; she doesn't think I'm a threat. Or maybe like Maxine, she wants something to happen. She left that revolver there for a reason, right?

I stare after Gilleon, taking in the angry look on Karl's face, the harsh jerk of his chin. One of the men that's appeared in the foyer steps forward to take Gill by the shoulders and shove him to his knees. He winces but goes down without any resistance, blood staining his jeans, his blue eyes faraway and broken.

“This clears the air between us then?” Max asks, reaching into her pocket and emerging with a cigarette. There's no sign of a gun in her hand, no blood anywhere at all on her person. But on the floor at her feet, Ewan lays sprawled and motionless.

One look is all it takes to tell me that he's dead. Dead. He is as dead as the man lying next to him, the man with the bullet wound through his skull. The man that I killed.

My stomach roils again and my gaze snaps back to Gill as Karl hefts a revolver of his own in his long, pale fingers.

“It certainly doesn't hurt,” Karl says, lifting up his gun. But I saw him before. I saw him. This is a man that doesn't hesitate, that doesn't care. There won't be a speech or a long drawn out instance. The second that muzzle levels with Gill's skull, it's over.

Gilleon is gone.

Gilleon is dead.

My elbow snaps up and back, right into Kayla's face, some leftover remnant of the Fight for the Night self-defense class that Katriane made me take. Revolver up, finger on the trigger, silver gleaming.

Not even a breath passes between my lips as I squeeze.

Karl won't hesitate; neither will I.

My thumbs press together, my left numb but still able to obey my body's commands.

Never underestimate the blonde in the designer dress.

I squeeze the trigger; the bullet hits Karl right behind the ear.

Blood splatters Gilleon's face like wet paint.

That's the last thing I remember.





“Are you …” Leilani pauses for a moment and sits back in Cliff's armchair, the color draining from her face as she looks me over like she's never seen me before. I try to smile, but my face hurts from where Kayla hit me, knocking me out cold. I hear she tried to shoot me, too, but Aveline got her ten times better than she got me. Guess she didn't mean to leave that revolver in my hand. Maxine though … I guess I'll never really know.

“Going to finish that sentence?” I substitute for Leilani, taking small, slow breaths. It still hurts to inhale. I glance up at the sound of footsteps and smile as Cliff hands me an iced tea with a straw and a lemon bar on a tiny plate. “Merci beaucoup, Papa,” I say, squeezing his hand as he steps back. He knows I'm thanking him for a whole lot more than dessert.

“Don't push yourself,” Cliff warns, giving me a look and then switching it over to Leilani. I might be in my thirties, but the parental warning still makes me feel guilty. Or maybe it's just the memory of Cliff's face when I first woke up, freshly washed sheets tucked up around my chest, the smell of laundry detergent tickling my nose. Gill and me, we scared the shit out of the old man.

Outside, the sun gleams bright, drying up yesterday's rain. I'm almost disappointed, as nice as it is to have a break in the storm. Just a few more days until Christmas, and since there's no way I'm getting a white one, at least a grayish wet one, please?

“Are you … fucking crazy?” Leilani finally gasps, brown eyes moving to the staircase to check for Solène. But nope. She's upstairs unpacking some of our boxes from France, almost as excited as I am that we're staying here.

Almost.

Although nobody's as excited as I am, especially not after what Gill and I went through. If I'd had any doubts about getting back together with him—I didn't, but that's beside the point—they'd be gone now.

“You could've been killed, Regi.” Leilani puts her fingers up to her temples and shakes her head, dark brown ponytail flopping back and forth. “Don't tell me anymore or I'll feel obligated to call Anika. She calls me everyday now to check up on you. I think she's too afraid to call you herself.”

I glance down at my lap and smile, poking at the powdered sugar on the top of my dessert.