Tragic Beauty (Beauty & The Darkness #1)(68)

Shayne closes his eyes and he’s no longer a beast. Just a man. A damaged man, with a damaged face to match. A man who got a shittier deal in life than I did. And all he’s ever wanted is me, the one who never wanted him back.

The gun shakes in my hand, so hard, I move my finger off the trigger so it won’t go off by accident. I try to think. Maybe if I can string him along somehow, keep him sidetracked until he passes out, there’s a chance he won’t remember any of this tomorrow. But I’ve never seen him drunk before, so I don’t know. I only know how my father was when he got drunk. Sometimes he would remember, sometimes he wouldn’t.

There is one thing I do know though.

I can’t kill him.

I can’t.

Maybe I’m being weak. Maybe it’s the way I’m bound to him now. Maybe it’s all he’s revealed.

But I can’t kill him.

I can’t.

It’s not the way I’m made.

I set the gun down on the mattress, feeling like I’m playing a game of Russian Roulette. What’s going to happen now? Will he really follow through on Gavin? Maybe I can reason with him. Maybe I can get through to him. Maybe I can give him something else to trade for Gavin’s life.

Shayne opens his eyes—eyes that have the look of a helpless child who’s hurting so bad and doesn’t know how to stop it.

More tears fall down my cheeks, and I huddle there, trembling.

He smiles, and I watch the beast creep back into his eyes. “Had your chance, baby. Bu’ you blew it. Now I get t’ kill him.”

“No, pl—”

I choke on the words when he staggers to his feet, faster than I thought he could move for being so drunk. He lurches forward, grabs me by the wrist of my good hand, and drags me up the stairs, thankfully leaving the gun behind. Through the door, I see the black dually sleeping in the garage, then we’re back in the house and he’s staggering down the hall, still holding me tightly by the wrist. When we come to the door with the deadbolt—my door—he opens it and tosses me inside, where I fall on the cement.

He stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame to keep from swaying. “Don’ think I want t’ let you wander for a while. ‘Specially as I gotta leave for a few days. You should have enough bread t’ last you.”

I scramble to my knees at his feet, knowing what he’s really saying, and the words stumble out of me. “Please, Shayne! I’m beg—”

“I gave you a chance, baby. All you had t’ do was kill me. But you couldn’t do it. Now I gotta keep m’ word, don’t I? Cause I got nothin’ else left. Nothin’.

“No! Please! Tell me what I can do!”

He stares down at me, his hair falling down around his face, and I wonder if perhaps my pleas are working, but he shakes his head. “It’s all fo’ him, isn’t it? Everythin’ you do. Everythin’! It’ll always be fo’ him!!!”

He staggers back and slams the door in my face and locks it.

I crumple into a heap, certain of two things. He’s going to kill Gavin. And I should’ve pulled the trigger.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN




Gavin




It’s always an odd feeling when I step into my house after being gone for so long, filming. It feels like someone else’s home. In truth though, it never really felt like mine. It belongs to the movie star, not Gavin West. In some ways, it’s just an empty shell, sort of like me, but now for some reason, it feels more empty than usual.

A soft giggle floats through my ears and I wince, just like I always do when I think of her. Four months have passed, and I’m still reeling from what happened as though it was just yesterday. Doesn’t matter how fast I drive, how hard I punch, how reckless I am—how much I toy with that line—I can’t seem to shake her.

I make my way past the living room and up the stairs. In the bedroom, I drop my bags on the floor and fall back onto the bed. The bed I shared with her. The bed we stained with our blood. I couldn’t even bring myself to wash those sheets. They’re not on the bed now, but I still have them. Folded up and tucked away in my closet. It’s the only thing I have to remember her by. That and my Metallica shirt. I’m glad she took my sweats though. I think something in me would’ve been disappointed if she hadn’t. At least I know I meant something to her, too. But then the words she screamed at me that night come tearing through me and I’m not so sure anymore.

I scrub my face with my hands, then stare at my left wrist. I’ve got three more marks since I walked away from her. Not good. Not good at all.

The first I got for trying to kill that guy, for what he did to Ava. And I would’ve too, if she hadn’t stopped me. I’d have done the time for her, without a doubt. Hell, it already feels like I’m serving some kind of sentence.

The second mark was for a fight in a pub in Dublin. Some cocky punk was dumb enough to challenge me when the demon was raging. Stupid fuck. All these guys talk big, wanting a piece of the big shot action star, but when it comes down to it, they don’t stand a chance. Normally I just put my head down and walk away, but this asshole—he picked the wrong guy on the wrong day. Good thing some guys from the crew pulled me off. And I know the studio wasn’t too pleased about it all, but I’m past caring.