by Ally Vance
“I’m sorry, Lola. I thought maybe I could have my painting.” Amanda fidgets on the doorstep.
“You knew his wife?” I find myself asking, astounded. The woman’s face pales, but Lola stays composed. “Amanda, go home. I’ll come see you when it’s safe to do so, okay?”
Nodding her head frantically, Mrs. Reese backs away from the door. “Yes. I’m sorr-sorry, Lola.”
Once she’s left, Lola closes the door and looks up at me through her lashes. “I can explain.”
The witness. He said Lola pulled the gun from her purse. “You brought the gun with you. You set him up.” I breathe. That drunken bastard wasn’t lying.
“He was an animal. I’ve been doing paint therapy with his wife trying to show her there’s life after the abuse, that even with scars, she’s beautiful, a survivor.”
Running my hands through my hair, I pace. This wasn’t an attack and self-defense. It was a set-up and murder.
“I made her buy a gun, then I went to the bar where she said he likes to hang out at, pick up women, and torture her with stories of his infidelity. Worse part? She liked that he was seeking gratification in other women because it meant she wouldn’t have to limp around that week.”
What the fuck is happening? I killed that witness to protect her from his lies, but it was her lying.
“He used to tie her to the bed and flick burning matches on her naked body. Laughed, took pictures, degraded her.” She punches out each word, defiance in her tone.
“So, you took the law into your own hands, gave him what he deserved?” I spit out, shaking my head. Fuck.
“I went to that bar and watched him watching me like I was a prize piece of meat hanging from a hook at a slaughterhouse. He was a predator, Adams. He did follow me that night when I left, and he did try to attack me when I told him I wasn’t interested. I didn’t lie about that.”
Is my chest tightening? This is madness. “You disabled him and could have pressed charges—gotten rid of him that way.”
“And what—he’d get a slap on the wrist? He’d been charged with battery on his own wife and got a fine. A fucking fine. What kind of justice is that?” she bellows, her hand animated. She’s right. He would have gotten a slap on the fucking wrist.
“She could have left him,” I find myself murmuring.
“Fear is a powerful thing. It holds you hostage. I did what I had to do to make sure she didn’t have to suffer anymore. He was a savage.”
Her going to Simon’s stepfather’s house…what was she going to do there? I spot her purse, the one she was carrying tonight, and lunge for it. “Wait,” she screeches, reaching out to take it but missing. “What are you doing?” she rushes out, her hands out, pleading.
“What were you really doing tonight at Simon’s stepfather’s house? If I open this purse, will I find another gun? Another lie?”
“Adams, please.” Her lip trembles, giving me the answer I seek. Tearing the bag open, my chest hollows.
“Adams, I can explain,” she whimpers.
Pulling the gun free, my head spins. It’s the one missing from her father’s cabinet. The murder weapon never recovered. “You killed them?” I choke out. Images of their dead bodies assault me. Thoughts of the man I killed in that parking lot because I believed it was him.
She fooled us all.
She fooled me.
“I didn’t kill my parents.” Her body trembles. Tears leak down her cheeks. “My…my brother was a sick person. He used to…” she chokes on the words. “He used to come into my room at night when I was younger.”
Her old scars and trauma, images of the scars on her thighs. They were from her brother? “My mom found him one night and they sent him away. He blamed drugs, so they sent him to rehab and disowned him.”
Acid churns my stomach. Anger buzzes in my skull. “What happened that night, Lola?” Closing her eyes, she nibbles anxiously on her lip, pacing the carpet. “Tell me!” I roar. I need to fucking know this woman I love, fucking committed murder for, is the broken girl I found and not some viper, manipulator.
“I went to the school dance that night, so happy and free for the first time in my life.” Her throat bobs as she swallows down the sorrow. “I came home to the door being open and my brother waiting for me.”
“He killed your parents?” I surmise.
A sob breaks free from her chest. “Yes. He said we could be together, just the two of us, forever. He was sick, damaged up here,” she stutters, pointing to her head. “I made him put the gun down, encouraged him to come to me,” she cries, hiccupping.
“He raped me for the last time that night. I managed to get to the gun while he was catching his fucking breath. It’s why I had blood spatter all over me. No one even asked how or why I was covered in his blood.” She shakes her head in amazement. “You found the damaged girl, and that’s all you saw that night. So, I let you.”
“Where did you hide the gun?”
“I didn’t hide it. Not really. I put it in one of the shoe boxes in the closet and went back for it when I ran away from the foster home.”
Unbelievable.
“You must think I’m a fucking fool—played on my affections to get me to believe your version of events.” I exhale, scrubbing a hand down my face.
“No,” she rushes over to me, clasping my shoulders “No. I needed you. I was in pieces. Broken but reborn that night. You brought me into the light, and I kept you with me in here.” She places a hand over her heart. “All these years, you were in here.”
I look into the depths of her eyes, seeking out truth within them. Does she love me—am I everything to her that she is to me?
“Why didn’t your parents report your brother?” My head spins with so many questions.
“Because he was their son.” She dips her head, pain evident in her features.
Those motherfuckers. They protected him by letting him go to rehab. He should have been in a prison cell. They should have been in a cell.
“They deserved to die too,” I state. Parents who don’t protect their children are the worst kind of humans.
Her head whips up, eyes seeking the truth in my words.
“They didn’t keep you safe. It was their fault he was able to come into your home that night.”
Nodding her head, she sniffles before wrapping her arms around my neck. “Yes. They deserved to die too.”
She’s a killer not by accident, but by intent, created from evil done to her. Does this change anything for us? Can I condemn her for protecting people like Amanda when that’s what I’ve done for her? Two peoples lives I’ve taken for her, and I’d take more if it came to it. I fucking love her, and holding her body in my arms, her being mine, eclipses everything else. When it comes down to the basic foundations of our love, it bloomed from blood and horror, maybe it’s supposed to be this way for us.
Darkness and sin.
Maybe were both reborn that night.
“Don’t leave me,” she pleads into my chest, her fingers digging into my flesh. “Love me, please.”
My soul quakes, her desperate plea soaking into all the cracks she’s created within me.
I doubt she ever felt loved, protected. She needs that now, from me. Her parents didn’t protect her from her own brother’s cruelty. She needs to know I will protect her, love her. When the lights fade and the darkness creeps in, I’ll be the one waiting in the shadows for her with open arms. There’s no going back from this, from what we’ve both done. I’m a part of her now and she will forever be a part of me.
Lifting her into my arms, I take her to the bedroom, place her on the bed, and push down my slacks. “No one will ever hurt you again, my little lamb.” I repeat my words, my promise to her.
Covering her body with mine, her legs part and lips turn up into a small smile. As I enter her body, I’m sure I hear her whisper, “I’m not the lamb here, you are.”
Epilogue
Lola
Placing the last item of cloth
ing into the suitcase, I look around the rotten room, a shiver snaking up my spine. Simon’s stepfather did have the audacity to come back to the place he used to act out his sick perversions. Simon’s mother left almost six months before. “Is that everything?” I ask Adams, my stomach flipping over, taking him in as he holds a blade to the vile pig’s throat while dressed head to toe in a forensic suit that matches my own. “Did you get any money lying around? We can’t leave anything that will look suspicious. It has to look like he ran.”
I nod, doing one more sweep of the house before returning to confirm. Fear is potent in the air, coming off the evil scum in waves. Piss coats the tarp we laid out on the chair he’s held hostage in.
“It’s time,” Adams informs me, and a rush of power floods my bloodstream. Walking over to the chair, I take the blade from him. “This is for Simon, you piece of shit.” I lunge forward, stabbing him between his thighs, twisting the steel edge when he cries out against his gag, thrashing around like a fish hitting dry land.
“Lamb,” Adams murmurs, holding his hand out for the knife when I jab into his ball sack. My heart pumps wild in my chest. Blood stains my gloves. I’ve grown to love the color red. Handing Adams the knife, I step back to get full view of them both.
Fisting the blade, he stabs the fish in the neck, right where the artery is, slicing quick and efficiently, the crimson river gushing free.
“Happy?” Adams asks me with a raised brow.
“Ecstatic.” I smile. Until the next time.
The End
About Ker Dukey
About Ker:
Ker Dukey, is an international bestselling author, with over forty titles published. Her titles have held multiple #1 bestseller banners and have had rights sold to numerous countries. Genres include:
Dark Romance, Psychological Thriller, New Adult Romance, Romantic Suspense, MC romance, and Mafia Romance.
In addition to being an author, Ker is an annoying wife and a mother of three children + one dog (who thinks he's human.) She has a passion for reading and binge-watching crime documentaries.
Books by Ker:
Amazon.
Goodreads
Ker’s website