Out of Love(67)

And as soon as the shower shut off, I took the gun and wrapped my hands around the cold grip. It felt heavy and foreign to me.

Jericho stood, making a whining noise. My gaze slid to him as I aimed the gun at the bathroom doorway. Slade poked his head around the corner, his attention going straight to Jericho. Then his attention shifted across the room to me, in the shadows of the corner, pointing his gun at him.

He slowly tucked the towel under to hold it on his waist, water dripping from his hair, rivulets sliding down his torso. “Livy …”

“It’s not your job,” I whispered past the jagged boulder in my throat.

“What’s not my job?”

“Protecting me.”

“What are you talking about?” He took a step toward me.

“Don’t!” I jerked the gun like a whip. “Don’t take another step.”

“You’re alive. I think that proves I’m protecting you. I’m doing my job. I’m doing what I want to do because I love you.”

“Lies …” I shook my head, fighting the burning tears waiting to be set free. “You’re an assassin. Not a bodyguard. You kill people.”

The muscles in his jaw flexed. “I kill bad people to protect good people.”

“LIES!” My grip tightened as the tears breached the dam, falling fast and hard down my face. “You got a m-message.” I could barely see him through my tears. “I’m your target.”

His gaze shot to the computer on the bed, and it stayed there for several seconds before he closed his eyes and inched his head side to side. “Livy—”

“No! No Livy. No more trusting you. No more anything. I’m going to put all of these bullets in you and make you fucking bleed the truth. For all of the people you’ve killed. You lied to me. You’re not a good person who does bad things to terrible people. You’re just a sick fuck who hunts humans like an animal. M-my h-head …” I sobbed as the words from the text replayed in my mind. “Y-you were g-going to c-cut off my h-head.” I trembled from the emotions beating me up from the inside out like a malignant cancer.

“Put the gun down, Livy.”

“No!”

He frowned, tightening the towel around his waist. “It’s not loaded. Put the fucking gun down.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying.” He blew out an exasperated breath and glanced at the ceiling. “Pull the trigger if you don’t believe me.” His eyes shifted, pinning me with his intense gaze again.

“How many?” I said with a shaky voice. “How many people have you killed?”

He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. I don’t keep a count.”

Slade Wylder was cold and heartless. And manipulative. I wondered how many women he manipulated before me.

“You’re a bastard.”

“Fine, but I still love you back.”

“STOP saying that!”

“Give me the gun or pull the trigger.”

I pulled my left hand from the grip and wiped my tears, quickly returning it to help steady my other hand.

“How much did she teach you? Your aunt? Because it takes a special personality to take another person’s life. You’re not that person, Liv. You don’t take lives. And that makes me fucking love you even more.”

“You don’t know me,” I said just above a whisper.

“No?” He cocked his head to the side. “Then pull the trigger.” He taunted me.

He manipulated me.

He touched me intimately knowing he would kill me.

It was worse than anything Stefan Hoover planned on doing to me. Slade took my fucking heart, not just my body, not just a piece of my innocence. He tainted my soul.

“My mom …” I sniffled. “She told me about the agony of putting her dog down when he was suffering too much. She said her heart knew he had to be put out of his misery. You … you’re a miserable human, and I’m going to put you out of your misery. I’m going to take one life to save hundreds of lives. I’m going to do a bad thing to a terrible person. I’m going to prove to you that you don’t know me … and what I am or am not capable of doing.” Two more tears escaped as I drew my right index finger toward my palm.

Click.

A hollow click.

I pulled the trigger a second time.

Click.

Third time.

Click.

“Jesus …” Slade whispered. The most foreign expression took hold of his face.

Shock? Fear? Devastation?

No … it wasn’t any of those things. For a few seconds, I saw a reddening of his eyes, a tiny glimpse of his rawest of emotions.

Betrayal.

He felt betrayed.

I felt like screaming and running. But my cries would’ve died inside those walls. And with Jericho by the only exit, I had nowhere to go.

No bullets.

No plan.

No chance.

No hope.

I let the gun drop to the floor, and I held up my hands near my face, curling them into fists.

“I’m not going to fight you, Livy.” He released his towel and grabbed his briefs from the top of the dresser, followed by a clean pair of jeans and a black tee.

My stance remained ready to take a punch or throw one. I was going to leave the firehouse that night … or die trying.