Bennett Mafia(89)

He didn’t answer, just stared at me as he breathed out through his nostrils. “I need a fucking drink.”

I followed him into the kitchen area. “You’re confusing the fuck out of me.”

He ignored me, opening a cupboard, slamming it shut. He moved to the next and repeated the same vicious motions.

“What’s going on with you—”

“You!” He whirled toward me, his face twisted. “You. You’re what’s wrong.”

I fell back a step, feeling slapped in the back. “What? But—”

He picked up a glass and threw it against the wall. It shattered into pieces, falling to the floor.

My mouth fell right alongside it. “What is wrong with you?!”

“You—”

“Yeah,” I cut him off this time, surging forward. “You said that already. Me. I’m wrong. But it’s not me. It’s you. This is what you’ve said since the beginning. You wanted me against my father. You offered to bring him to me to be killed. Then you said you would kill him anyway. Now you want to use me against him, and what?” I flung my arms out wide. “Why are you shocked that I brought a gun to actually do it?!”

“Because it’s you!” he yelled. “It’s you.” He lowered his voice, his hand raking through his hair. When he looked back at me his eyes were stricken, haunted.

He paused, and when he spoke again it was almost a whisper. “Because—because I’ve fal—I care about you. I more than care, and I don’t know what the fuck to do about that.”

Those words almost shoved me on my ass. “What?”

He twisted around, both his hands in his hair again, his shirt stretching over his back. “Yes! Everything you’re saying makes sense. Killing is something I don’t think about anymore. I wish I did. I wish…” He snarled. “I wish I gave a damn about who I kill. It’s him or us. That’s how—”

“Him?” I said faintly.

“What?”

“You said him or us.”

He frowned. “Us or them. It’s us or them. That’s how I grew up. That’s how we Bennetts are.”

“No.” I shook my head. “You said him or us. Who’s him?”

But I knew. My gut was twisting on it.

I gentled my question, “Who’s him, Kai?”

He couldn’t look away. He flinched. He tried to turn away, but I hurried over and caught him. I touched the side of his face, holding him in place.

“Who, Kai?” He had to say it. “Who? Say his name.”

He jerked out of my grasp, walking away.

“Kai!”

“What?” He flung his hands out, stopping. But he didn’t turn around.

“Turn around.”

He didn’t. He didn’t respond either.

“Kai.”

He took another step. Here we were again. I was chasing him. I was following him.

“Kai.” I sighed. “Look at me.”

“Why?”

He did, though. He looked, with sheer defeat on his face. Every inch of him looked like it’d been through the wringer, as if a truck had hit him.

“Why?” he said again. “This isn’t goddamn therapy. You know who I meant. You know who the monster was who created me. You called me a monster before. Well, I learned how to be one from someone.”

His eyes narrowed, a dangerous spark in them. He started for me, slowly.

“A monster created you too, but you didn’t turn into one. I’m about to do that for him,” he spat. “I’m taking you into my world, little by little. And you’re coming.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to fight me on it. You’re not supposed to come, but you are. One touch and you fold for me, and a part of me loves it. I thrive on it, but a part of me hates it. A part of me is disgusted when I touch you.”

I flinched. He was disgusted when he touched me?

“I am everything that’s bad in this world. You are everything that’s good, and I am turning you into me.” He choked out, “I hate myself when I look at you. You reflect everything wrong in me, every time I’m inside of you.”

His words were like whips, cutting into me, but there was goodness too. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe out through my nose, forcing myself to focus on the good. There was good.

There had to be.

Find it. Cling to it.

Keep it.

Maybe he was making me bad, but I was making him good.

There was this fight, this dance between us. Good versus evil—but I wasn’t perfect, and Kai wasn’t evil. He just did evil things. He was good that had been twisted into something darker.

I didn’t know what to say to any of that, so I went with what I knew to be true.

“I care about you too.”

“Don’t, Riley.”

I shook my head. “I care about you, and I know I’m changing, but I can’t stop it because I care about you.” He intoxicated me. “I more than care about you—enough to see this through.”

And here was another truth. If I walked from him now, I would be shattered.

I turned to that glass, broken in pieces. That would be me if I walked, if he walked, and it was fast becoming too pronounced for me to not acknowledge it.