Shattered Dynasty

I walk over to the table and reach for the gun. I’m sick of this shit.

“Talk.” I check the chamber and cartridge for bullets, finding them exactly where I need them. “Tell me what you know about Payton’s accident.”

“Running her over isn’t my style. What I had planned for your whore after what you did was way worse.”

I’m not much for violence, but this asshole . . . He deserves the worst hell can deliver. I can’t help it as I reach out and smack the fucker in the face with the butt of the gun. His head rears back from the impact.

“Yeah, big guy, what plan is that—”

“I would have used the goods, hard, before selling her sorry ass to the highest bidder.” He grins despite the blood staining his teeth.

I act, moving back toward where he’s tethered and punch him. My fist connects with his face. A loud crunch is followed by a rush of blood as I break his nose.

Turning to Lorenzo, I look at him for what he thinks. I might not know Paul, but it doesn’t add up. He’s quick to tell us what he wanted to do, proud even, so why won’t he admit to running her over?

It doesn’t make sense.

It isn’t him.

Yeah, he still needs to die for even thinking about hurting Payton. But maybe he’s not the person we’re looking for.

I nod at Lorenzo.

He knows what he has to do.

Without another word to Paul, I walk out of the warehouse and toward my car.

I don’t need to see him die.

He was planning on torturing Payton.

I’ll sleep just fine tonight, knowing I helped rid the world of that man.

Knowing I helped keep my girl safe.

44

Payton

* * *

If I tell Trent I’m better, will he kick me out of his bed?

My ankle doesn’t hurt anymore, and to be honest, I’m almost fully recovered. At this point, I’m just milking it.

Am I just a passing fancy?

An itch he needs to scratch?

Is this part of his guilt?

No.

I stave off the insecurities that have no place inside me. This is more than that. I can feel it.

I get dressed and make my way into the kitchen.

No one is here right now, which I’m cool with.

Trent sent everyone but security away. Said he wanted to be alone with me. And well, I’m famished from our alone time.

Opening the fridge, I grab an apple and sit down on one of the high stools at the kitchen island.

As I eat, I hear the sound of his shoes before I see Trent.

He looks a little rough around the edges. His hair is a mess. It’s the circles under his eyes that have me worried. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, which is weird because we sleep in the same bed.

Except for last night.

He was gone when I went to bed and gone when I woke up.

As he gets closer, I also notice something else . . . Red splotches of blood darken his right hand and sleeve. Whatever he did, I have a feeling it wasn’t good. I also have a feeling it had to do with me.

“You have . . .” I trail off, nodding to his sleeve.

For some reason, I can’t find it in me to say what he has on him, and he must realize it because he looks down, and his face grows sullen.

Lines form along his brows.

“I’m going to shower.”

I don’t object.

I let him walk away, but for some reason, I feel like he needs me, so I get down from the chair and make my way to his bedroom.

I find him in the bathroom staring at his hands.

He’s in a trance.

“I’ve never taken a life before . . .”

Shuddering inwardly at the revelation, I don’t let him see my reaction. Taking a life must be devastating, but this isn’t about me. I heard from Mr. Baker that Trent deals with bad men. I know this. I have no doubt, whoever it was, he deserved it.

But I’m not the one who needs to hear this.

These are his demons, and I need to comfort him.

I place my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”

And I am.

This is one hundred percent about what happened to me.

“Maybe I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger, but I’m the reason he’s dead.” His hand reaches up to squeeze mine where it’s placed on his arm.

Dried blood transfers to my skin.

“Did he deserve it?” I whisper, staring at the dark red.

“Yes.”

“Then you have nothing to regret.”

I step closer to him, taking his bloody hands in mine.

Most of it is dried.

But still, it’s there.

And even after they wash away, the stains of blood will linger.

Maybe not enough to see, but the traumas of our past never really go away.

It’s okay, though.

I see that now.

Pain makes you stronger.

“Let me help you,” I whisper, standing on my tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his cheek.