The poor lady beside me looked mortified.
I, on the other hand, sized my main squeeze up with a lusty look. “You should have called, Az.” I made a show of running my tongue along my top lip before leaning into the woman at my side, squeezing her too-round tit through the sheet. “I would have saved you some.”
Az shook his head, looking far more disappointed than he had a right to be. “Twitch was right,” he said, and my heart stopped.
What did he just say?
What had Twitch said?
When did Twitch say something?
What the fuck was Az doing speaking to Twitch?
His eyes hard, he took a step back and his lip curled in disgust. “You are too damaged to be fixed.”
The words were severe, meant to taunt, and—fuck me—they met their mark.
Oh my fucking God.
It all made sense.
“Twitch warned you away from me.” Not a question. A firm statement.
Motherfucker.
I’d kill him.
I was surprised I managed to keep my tone calm, hiding the fact that I was infuriated. “Since when do you take orders from anyone, Sadik?”
The asshole avoided the question.
“I came here to call a truce.” The beautiful Turk’s lips thinned. “I came to apologize to you, Ling, but now...” His expression turned passive. “Now, I don’t give a shit.” He looked at the woman by my side before turning back to me. “You are a selfish, spoiled little cunt who throws a shit fit every fucking time something doesn’t go her way.” Those midnight eyes assaulted me. “Call yourself a queen?” He huffed out a cruel laugh. “Shame on you. You’re a fucking joke.”
And with that, he turned and walked away.
I sat up straight, letting the sheets fall to my hips, and when I reached under my pillow, the thunderstorm inside me raged with a fury I’d never had the pleasure of experiencing until that very moment.
So when the shot rang out and the woman beside me screamed, Az stood there a moment, motionless as I’d ever seen a person. And that kind of stark stillness was so unnatural a view it frightened me. As the redness began to show, he slowly shuffled around to face me. Reaching up to hold his heart, he swayed on the spot, looking down at the exit wound before gazing up at me, wide-eyed and shocked.
“You crazy bitch,” he muttered weakly. His body shook violently a moment before he wheezed out, “You shot me.”
The sound of his body falling to the ground was one that would haunt me every night in my dreams for all eternity.
“Oh, fuck,” I whispered unsteadily.
I didn’t want to kill him. I didn’t mean to kill him.
Looking beside me at the woman in bed, I uttered a quietly stunned, “I didn’t mean to.”
It just... happened.
And as she looked at me as though I were a fucking monster, she nodded animatedly in agreement, and I knew she thought she was next.
I licked my lips.
She was right.
Lifting the gun, her face fell as she started to cry with the realization that her next breath would be her last, and all I could do was say, “I’m sorry,” as the shot echoed throughout the room. Her naked, lifeless body fell backwards off the bed, and I was thankful she had the graciousness to take her leave from my sight.
What was only moments ago a room filled with the sounds of mutual pleasure was now awash in silence. In a single moment, I lost the love of my life.
My eyes darted from where he lay to the gun in my hand.
He died by my hand. I killed him.
Dropping the gun as if it burned me, it fell to the side of the bed with a dull thud.
I moved, and I don’t know how long passed because it felt as though time had stopped.
As I sat on the edge of the bed, my eyes on the prone body of the man who changed me kiss by gentle kiss, I felt something building. Something bleak and foreboding.
Sorrow.
The first sob shot out of me like a bullet leaving a gun, hard and fast. Cradling my head in my hands, howling with grief, I hugged myself and rocked quietly, saying the words over and over again like a mantra.
“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.”
Minutes went by, and as my tears continued to fall, I came to the conclusion that one person was to blame.
Sliding off the bed, I crawled over to him on weak knees and lay by my beautiful Turk, stroking his thick hair. “I’m sorry,” left me quietly as I leant in and pressed my lips to his. Another sob left me. I spoke through the tears, pressing another gentle kiss to his lips, whispering, “Wake up, baby.”
But he wasn’t listening.
My body shook from my place on the floor as my tone became desperate. “Everything’s going to be okay.” I sniffled, and explained, “I just need you to wake up.” I paused at his stillness. “Okay?”
Nothing. “Okay?”
Not a word.
My lips trembled, and I stroked his hair harshly as my voice cracked, “Okay?”
I took a moment to look at him. His open eyes were void and hollow, and his gaping mouth seemed to be frozen on a cry he never got the chance to set free.
Closing my eyes, I let out a low whine before body-wracking sobs took me by force. Tears blurred my vision as I wept openly, pulling him to me and holding him in death as I should have in life.
It was okay. Everything would be okay.
My arms shook around his dead weight. I took in what little warmth he had.
We’d just lie here a while, and tomorrow, everything would be fine.
I cradled his head to my bosom and rocked him gently, putting my lips to his temple as I whispered all the things I wish I’d said yesterday.
Everything would be fine.
Unfortunately, everything was not fine.
My eyes swollen from the crying, I looked up as my brother entered the bedroom, his eyes looking from Aslan’s cold, lifeless body to me then back again. He swallowed hard, running a hand down his face, as he uttered a quiet, “Ling....”
I know.
It was bad.
As I crouched in the corner of the room, wearing nothing but my bloodstained skin, I said the only thing I could.
“It was an accident.”
Regretfully, the gunshot wound to his back said differently.
My brother blinked at me a moment before his feet moved and he crossed the room. Van knelt in front of me, taking a soft hand and cupping my cheek before attempting to pick at the bloodstained hair that had dried to my face from when I put my head to Az’s chest in an effort to see if his heart was beating. “It’s okay, Ting-a-Ling.” He lifted me to stand and pulled me into his arms. He held me tightly, rubbing my bare back. “We’ll fix this.”
No.
Didn’t he understand?
This wasn’t something we could fix.
We couldn’t bring him back. Couldn’t make him breathe again, or smile again, or argue with me, or love me with a full heart and an empty mind, damn all the consequences.
My brother snatched the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around my shivering body, pulling me to his side before guiding me out of the bedroom and towards the sofa.
This could not be fixed.
Aslan was dead.
Van sat me down and began to make the necessary phone calls. My gaze turned harsh at the understanding that I would never again hold the man I loved.
And I blamed Twitch.
Chapter
ThirtyOne
Lexi
The commotion started as soon as the front door opened, and I listened to it trail the hallway, settling into the family room. From inside the bathroom in my Pikachu slippers, I stopped applying mascara when I heard my little man.
“And Squidward is a butthead, but SpongeBob doesn’t care. He likes him anyway,” explained A.J. enthusiastically.
“Why is he a butthead?” asked Twitch.
“I don’t know. He gets mad and doesn’t like people. He likes his clarinet,” A.J. went on, “The boss, Mr. Krabbs, is a butthead too. He likes money and he’s a crab, but his daughter is a whale and she cries a lot.”