“He blew his own brains out to protect her.” His hands fist into his hair so hard I’d swear he was pulling it from his scalp. “So much blood. And crying. God, the fear in their cries was the worst.”
A few seconds of silence pass before he regains the control to continue. “I thought that might be it, that my brother’s suicide would be enough for her to scare us into submission.” His eyes meet mine. “I was wrong. She gave that gun, splattered in our brother’s blood, to David. Alexis was hyperventilating. He didn’t even hesitate, probably looking forward to dying because it had to be better than living. Then it was my turn. She knew I’d shoot myself before I let her touch my sister, so with me she got creative. She made me choose.” He holds out shaking hands, palms up. “Slow death by knife or a quick shot to the head.” His eyes shine with tears. “My baby sister . . . I had to choose.”
“Oh God . . .”
“By then she’d gone quiet. Maybe it was shock, but I knew she was gone somewhere deep inside her head. One by one, she watched with sick satisfaction as all three of my siblings took a bullet to the head. But it was me . . . it was my job to keep them safe. I didn’t pull the trigger, but I was responsible for their deaths.”
“Gage, no. You had no choice; you were a child and she was an animal.”
A slow, twisted smile crawls across his face. “Then it was my turn.”
“What happened?” I swallow, not sure I want or can handle the answer.
“She put that gun in my mouth, but she held the trigger. Everyone was dead; she had no one to threaten me with. ‘You’re the worst of them. You won’t be missed. You’re no one,’ she said. Her eyes were almost black. I remember that. It was like . . . like she was high on the anticipation of spilling my blood. I knew I was gonna die. Hell, after what I’d seen, I was ready. Welcomed it. She pulled the trigger. It knocked me back and as I was lying in a pool of my brother’s and sister’s brains and blood and then . . .” His gaze comes to mine, bringing him back from the nightmare. “I realized I was still breathing. Luke learned later at the hospital that it was the angle that saved us. Shot under my tongue, and here.” He points to the scar under his jaw. “She dropped the gun on my chest, and I remember her laughing.” He coughs out a chuckle but his face twists in pain. “Surrounded by the gruesome mess of her children’s dead bodies, and she was laughing. I lost it then; I couldn’t help it. I joined in. I was choking on my own blood, but I was happy. I picked up the gun, excited about what I knew I was going to do next.”
“Gage . . .” Fear rolls through me and as desperate as I am for the next words to roll from his lips, to hear what I already know, I’m shaking.
He cups my jaw with both hands and holds my head tight so I can’t look away. “I was spared to accomplish this one thing, to get revenge. I pushed myself up”—a languid grin pulls at his lips—“and shot the bitch between the eyes.”
I suck in a breath, and strangely there are no tears. “You didn’t murder your family.” No fear. Not even revulsion. Only relief. Respect. And the feeling of justice. “But . . . you killed your mom.”
“She killed me first.” His hands release me and he takes a step back, putting distance between us. “And, Shy?”
“Yeah?”
The sound of voices yelling outside is followed by boots stomping across the porch. Oh no, the sheriff. Our time is up.
He turns to me and smiles softly as a single tear falls from his eye. “I love you too.”
The door bursts open and deputies with guns drawn pour into the living room.
“No!” I move on instinct to protect Gage, to cover him with my body. “What is this? What are you doing?” I’m snagged from behind by a deputy and pulled to the far end of the room.
Deputies surround Gage, but he doesn’t run or take his eyes off me. They jerk his arms behind his back. “Lucas Menzano, you’re under arrest for—”
“Arrest?” I kick to free myself from the deputy’s hold. “For what? He didn’t do anything!”
He blinks and confusion tightens his expression. “What happened?”
Sorrow drags me to my knees. “Lucas! Oh God, Lucas!” Finally, the tears come.
“I don’t understand,” he says to one of the deputies. “What’s going on?” His gaze searches mine and he takes a second to study my face, most likely seeing the leftover emotion and tears from Gage’s confession. “What did you do to her? Why are you holding her?” He fights in their hold, the muscles of his upper body straining beneath his bare skin.
“Lucas . . .”
LUCAS
Pain I can take. The burn in my shoulders as I struggle to get free, the ache in my legs as I push to get to Shyann, all of it is a party compared to the slicing agony at seeing her cry.
Her eyes are puffy, bloodshot, and tear-soaked.
What happened?