Born, Madly (Darkly, Madly 2)

At my confused expression, she palms my face between her trembling hands. “The razors—”

“Were tipped with aconite.”

Nelson stands at the base of the container, gun aimed up at us. I pull London behind my back.

“That’s amazing,” Nelson says. “A selfless, heroic psychopathic killer. I believe that’s an oxymoron.”

I can feel it now—the poison coursing my system.

A clamminess blankets my skin. Spikes of cold and hot prickle my body; nerve endings misfiring. My muscles twitch, spasms starting to set in. Nausea will soon follow. Convulsions. Paralysis. Asphyxiation.

An excruciating death.

How long has it been since the first blade sliced my skin? Five…six minutes?

I don’t have much time.

I kneel before London. “Take the switchblade from my pocket.”

The panic lacing her gleaming eyes gives way to horror. “What?—I’m not—”

Nelson’s deep chuckle grates my already fraying nerves. “Oh, this is priceless. Just perfect.” He taps the barrel of the gun to his temple, as if he’s thinking. “Yes, London. You have to. A mercy kill…end his pain. You don’t want him to suffer an agonizing death.”

I swallow as I hold her gaze, resolute. “Put the blade to my throat.”

“Grayson…” Her eyes seal shut. She knows this is the only way—but she’s fighting fate.

“Trust,” I whisper. I wet my lips, my mouth running dry.

With unsteady balance, she dips her head and places the softest kiss to my neck. She talks in a hushed tone, her swift words for my ears only. Then her hand slips into my front pocket and grasps my newest switchblade.

“I underestimated you, Nelson,” I shout down to him, keeping my gaze trained on London’s beautiful face.

When I’m gone, he’ll either shoot her or submerge her in the acid, finishing the job. The scene will be set. It’s brilliant, really. London and I—accomplices, lovers—destroyed by our own maddening devices. Our own hands.

Such a perfect ending.

Maybe that’s where London and I made our first mis

take. Believing we could bottle our perfect piece of heaven. Immortalize it. Exist only for each other.

Maybe we still can.

But the higher we climbed, drugged on each other, ruling over a damned world that bowed and trembled before the god-like monsters we’d become, the harder our fall.

We are perfection.

And we are the fear that lurks beneath it.

We feast on each other and exist only for the highs…and even now as I kneel before my dark goddess and pray for her mercy, I regret nothing.

We truly were happy.

Maybe we still can be.

The razor-sharp edge of the knife presses into my neck and splits my skin, and I release a hiss. I search her gold-flecked eyes for the spark that tells me she’s ready. Her eyes are wild, filled with loathing contempt, her chest heaving as glistening beads of sweat dot her smooth brow.

My beautiful angel of mercy, now my vengeful angel of death.