38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

IZEL

I’m in the kitchen, wrestling with a lasagna recipe from a YouTube tutorial. Shouldn’t be so hard, right? Oh, but it is. The damn cheese won’t layer right, and I’ve got sauce splattered everywhere. I finally shove the dish into the oven and let out a frustrated sigh just as I hear the front door open.

“Hey,” I start, brushing flour off my hands onto my jeans. “Uh… I hope it’s not weird me being here. I didn’t feel like being alone at my apartment.”

He takes a second, then lets out a low chuckle, pulling off his jacket and tossing it over the arm of the couch. “Weird? Are you kidding me?” He takes off his shoes, clearly more at ease now. “In fact, I could get used to this.”

I blink at him, not sure if he’s serious, and then he drops the bomb. “Move in with me.”

I nearly knock over the bowl of grated cheese in front of me. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me. Move in with me. I love the idea of having you around all the time. Why are you even surprised? I think I’ve made it very clear where you stand in my life.”

“I… I guess I didn’t expect that,” but something about his tone makes me pause. I narrow my eyes at him, trying to figure out if he’s being entirely serious or if there’s a catch. “Wait, are you sure you want me to move in because you like having me around… or is this just so you can have a live-in booty call?”

“I plead the fifth to that question,” he smirks.

“Of course you do.” I swipe a towel off the counter and chuck it at him, hitting him square in the chest. He just catches it and puts it away.

“What?” He throws his hands up in mock defense. “I didn’t say it was just for that. But hey, if the shoe fits…”

I shake my head, feeling my face heat up a little, and busy myself with pretending to clean up the kitchen mess. “You’re such an ass sometimes.”

“That I am. What’s cooking?”

I roll my eyes. “Lasagna, if it doesn’t end up burning.”

“So, is this going to be the new normal?” he teases, probably because I still haven't said yes to moving in with him.

“Is what going to be the new normal?”

“You, making dinner and me coming home to you every night.” His eyes sparkle with amusement, even as he catches my annoyed expression.

“Don’t get used to it,” I say, looking up at him. “I’m not exactly Susie Homemaker.”

He laughs, stepping closer and placing a gentle kiss on my lips. “Smells amazing,” he murmurs against my mouth.

I smile at him. “Thanks. I think.”

He pulls back, searching my face. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” I lie, turning back to the counter. “Just this stupid lasagna.”

He chuckles, moving closer and wrapping his arms around my waist. “You got this. And if it’s a disaster, we’ll order pizza.”

I laugh. “Yeah, okay.”

Richard’s eyes soften as he looks at me. “You know, I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh-oh,” I say, grinning. “That’s dangerous.”

“Funny. No, really. I’ve been thinking... maybe this isn’t just about the lasagna. You look a little off.”

I pause, my hands stilling over the sauce-splattered counter. My stomach does a weird flip, and for a second, I debate whether to shrug it off with another joke or actually say what’s on my mind, but I can't do that. “I guess... I’ve just been thinking too.”

Richard’s eyebrows raise slightly. “About?”

“Everything. Us. This... whatever this is.” I gesture vaguely at the kitchen, the lasagna, him wrapped around me. “It’s all kind of... fast.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and I can feel his chin rest on the top of my head. “Does that freak you out?”

I snort. “Doesn’t it freak you out? We’ve only known each other for a while, and now suddenly, you want me to move in?”

Richard turns me around gently, his hands on my hips. His face is serious now, no trace of the teasing grin from before. “Yeah, I do. I’m not the type to drag my feet when I know what I want. I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

His words should make me swoon, but instead... “You’re not just saying that because of everything that’s happened, right?”

“No, Izel. I mean it. I love you. I want this. Us.”

I nod, pushing the doubts aside. “Okay.”

He lifts my chin, making me look into his eyes. “You’re not alone anymore. We’re in this together. Whatever comes next, we face it together.”

I don’t respond. It’s becoming harder by the second to keep up the act. Dating a profiler is like walking a tightrope over a pit of razor blades—one wrong move, one slip, and everything comes crashing down. Richard can read people like an open book, and lying to him is nearly impossible unless you’re exceptionally good at it. Luckily, I’ve been good at it since day one.

I look into his eyes, wanting to look away because twelve hours from now, he’s not going to have this look in his eyes. He’s probably going to regret everything he’s said and put the cuffs on me for real this time. It’s strange how two people can maintain eye contact while having completely different thoughts running through their minds. The worst part is not knowing what’s really going on in the mind of the person in front of you.

His eyes are filled with love and hope, but mine... mine are hiding a storm of fear and guilt. It’s like staring into a mirror and seeing two different reflections. He sees a future together, a partnership against the world. I see an inevitable end, a betrayal he won’t see coming until it’s too late.

When the timer finally goes off, we are pulled out of our intense eye contact.

Richard kisses me again, slower this time, making my toes curl. “Now, let’s see how this lasagna turns out.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

I pull the lasagna out of the oven, the cheesy, bubbly dish looking halfway decent. “Moment of truth,” I say, slicing into it and serving a piece to Richard.

He takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Fuck, this is good.”

“Really?” I ask, skeptically.

“Really,” he insists, taking the dish from me. “In fact, it’s so good that you’ll have to make yourself another batch.”

I snatch the dish back. “Oh, hell no. I want to taste it.”

We engage in a tug-of-war over the lasagna. “Come on, share!” I protest, trying to wrestle a piece away from him.

He grins, holding it out of my reach. “Nope, all mine. You said it was the moment of truth. Let me have my moment.”

I finally manage to grab a forkful and shove it in my mouth. My taste buds are instantly assaulted by a combination of undercooked pasta and way too much salt. I struggle to chew and swallow.

“Shit!” I gasp, reaching for my water glass. “This is terrible!” I chug the water, desperate to rid myself of the disgusting taste.

Richard is laughing so hard he’s nearly doubled over. “It tastes good to me!” he manages to say between laughs.

I glare at him, but I can't stop the smile tugging at my lips. “You’re a fucking lying liar.”

“Hey, I wasn’t lying,” he says, still chuckling. “Maybe I just love your cooking too much to care.”

“Or maybe you just have horrible taste,” I scowl.

“Maybe I just love everything you do, even if it’s making the world’s worst lasagna.”

I roll my eyes but feel a warm flutter in my chest. “You’re full of shit, you know that?”

“And you love me for it,” he replies, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“Yeah, I do,” I admit softly, resting my head against his chest.

He kisses the top of my head. “Let’s order pizza. We’ll let the pros handle dinner tonight.”

“Good idea,” I say, relieved. “I think I’ll leave the cooking to the experts from now on.”

After the pizza arrives, we dig in, savoring the greasy, cheesy goodness. It’s a relief not to worry about cooking and just enjoy the moment with Richard. Once we’ve finished eating, I stretch and lean back against the couch.

“Time for some wine,” I suggest.

He raises an eyebrow. “Wine? You trying to get me drunk, woman?”

“Maybe,” I tease, grinning. “Would Wilson have your badge over a glass of wine?”

“He’d probably have my badge over the lasagna,” Richard laughs. “But he can’t fire me for relaxing at home with my girl.”

“Good point,” I say, getting up. “I’ll get the wine. I owe you that much for making you suffer through my cooking.”

“Nah, I got it,” he says, starting to rise.

I gently push him back down. “Nope. You stay. You’ve earned it. Consider it a peace offering.”

He nods, settling back into his seat. “Alright, I’ll let you play hostess.”

I walk to the kitchen and fill two glasses with wine. With a trembling hand, I reach for the upper compartment and pull out a Xanax. I drop it into his glass, watching it dissolve.

“Hey, you coming?” Richard calls out from the living room.

“Yeah, just a second,” I reply, waiting for the Xanax to fully dissolve before carrying the glasses back to the dining table.

I hand him his glass, my eyes glued to it as he takes it from me. “Cheers,” I say, forcing a smile.

“Cheers,” he echoes, clinking his glass against mine. He takes a sip, and I watch intently, hoping he doesn’t notice anything off.

“What’s that look for?”

“Just thinking about how much I enjoy these moments with you,” I lie smoothly, taking a sip of my own wine.

He smiles, reaching out to take my hand. “I enjoy them too, Izel. More than you know.”

We sit there, drinking our wine and talking. My eyes stay glued to his drink as he continues to talk. Each sip brings him closer to the oblivion I need him for. I try to keep up with the conversation, nodding and smiling at the right moments, but my mind is elsewhere.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just... tired, I guess,” he murmurs, rubbing his eyes. “Long day.”

“Why don’t you lie down?” I suggest, hoping he’ll take the hint. “I’ll clean up here.”

He nods slowly, getting up from the table. “Yeah, maybe I will. Thanks.”

I watch him walk to the couch and lie down, his eyes closing almost immediately. My heart twists with guilt and fear, knowing that by morning, everything will have changed.

I wait a few minutes, making sure he’s out cold before checking his breathing. Once I’m certain he’s deeply asleep, I grab his keys and quietly slip out the door, clicking it shut behind me.

I take Richard’s car and start driving towards the nearby detention center. It’s almost midnight, and the streets are eerily quiet. I press the button on my Bluetooth earpiece, connecting to Martin.

“Martin, you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Martin replies, his voice slightly distorted through the voice modulator he’s wearing. “Everything set on your end?”

“Yeah, he’s out cold. You sure this is going to work?”

“It’ll work,” he assures me. “I’ve hacked into Richard’s phone and sent a message to the detention center, letting them know he’ll be visiting Victor for further questioning. I also used skimmers to get through the biometrics.”

“Skimmers?” I ask, wanting to hear the details again.

“Yeah,” he explains. “They’re devices that mimic biometric signatures. Basically, it copies Richard’s fingerprint and retina patterns. When I get to the detention center, the skimmers will trick the scanners into thinking I’m him. It’s not perfect, but it’s close enough. As long as I don’t have to get into a long conversation, we should be fine.”

“Let’s hope so,” I mutter tightening my grip on the steering wheel. “Richard has a few inches on you.”

“Yeah, well, let’s hope the guards aren’t too observant tonight,” he replies. “We’re counting on the late hour and their fatigue to work in our favor.”

Suddenly, a truck swerves into my lane, and I barely manage to avoid it. The screeching of tires is deafening, and I hear Martin’s concerned voice through the earpiece.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just lost balance.”

“Don’t get yourself killed. After all, we have a vacation planned in Aruba.”

I don’t respond. That plan was out the window the minute Richard had me under his spell. He thought it was him investigating me, but it was always the other way around. Martin and I knew that Richard was the lead investigator working on the Ghostface Striker case. When Victor decided to make Cassie his victim, I had enough. I knew I had to end him, and I had to do it myself.

I couldn’t stop Cassie’s murder because Liam stalled me for longer than necessary. When I saw so many FBI officers at my apartment, I knew killing a man like Victor wouldn’t go unnoticed. So, Martin and I came up with the plan to frame Richard for Victor’s murder. Luna did get one thing right—part of the plan was indeed to drive Richard to Hollowbrook. But it wasn’t about manipulating him into killing Victor. I needed him there so I could frame him for Victor’s murder.

Not because I had a personal grudge, but because if it wasn’t him, it would be me going to prison. And it might sound selfish, but I didn’t want to go to prison, not after I spent seventeen years in captivity.

Richard was supposed to be the one hunting Victor, but we turned the tables. I knew I had to play the part of a suspect to get his attention. Acting as a suspect was my best shot at staying close to the FBI while keeping Victor off my back. I knew that if I made any direct moves he wouldn’t hesitate to kill my mother. So, I kept dropping hints, making sure they’d start looking into Hollowbrook’s history. It wasn’t just about staying safe: it was about buying time and getting them to dig into Victor’s dirty past.

Staying with Richard was just a bonus I never knew I needed. We used his own investigation against him, planting evidence and manipulating his actions. Richard thought he was closing in on Victor, but he was walking right into our trap.

Martin’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. “Izel, are you with me?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Do you have the identity card?”

“I do,” I confirm, disconnecting the call as I pull into the parking lot of the detention center.

From a distance, I spot Martin at the entrance. He’s blending in, acting the part of Richard perfectly. I hold my breath, watching as he moves through the security checkpoint. The guards barely glance at him, too tired to care. In the background, I see the usual late-night activity—officers chatting, a few detainees being led to their cells.

Martin makes his move, and after a tense few moments, he signals that he’s in. Relief washes over me, but there’s no time to savor it. I start changing into a detention officer’s uniform, grumbling about the cramped space in the car.

“Fuck, why does this shit always have to be so tight?” I mutter, struggling to pull the pants up.

Once dressed, I glance at myself in the rearview mirror. I look the part. Good. Just as I finish adjusting my cap, the fire alarms start blaring. The sudden noise makes me jump, but then I hear Martin’s urgent whisper through my earpiece. “Now, now, now!”

I shove open the car door and step out, keeping my head down as I walk toward the entrance. The guards are distracted by the blaring alarms and the flooding water starting to trickle in. The sprinklers overhead have activated, and water is pouring down.

“Fucking hell,” one of them mutters, swiping at the water dripping from his cap. “What a shitshow.”

Another nods in agreement. “Tell me about it. This place is falling apart.”

With the guards distracted, I slip past them and into the detention center. The corridors are a maze, but Martin’s voice guides me through them. “Left at the next hallway, then straight ahead,” he says.

I follow his directions, the sound of the alarms and rushing water echoing around me. My heart races as I think about what’s to come. Victor deserves everything he’s about to get, but the thought of Richard—his betrayal and the look he’ll have when he realizes what I’ve done—makes me feel sick.

I turn the corner and see Martin waiting for me. The fire alarms have caused a full-blown evacuation, and the guards are scrambling to get the inmates under control.

Martin catches my eye and nods. “Ready?”

“Let’s do this,” I reply handing him Richard’s identity card.

Martin uses the card to access the high-security area where Victor is held. The water continues to flood the hallways, adding to the pandemonium.

I hide behind a wall as Martin approaches the security guard standing at the door. With a swift, practiced motion, Martin evades the guard’s attention, and the man wanders off to help with elsewhere.

Martin looks back at me, giving a small nod. I step forward, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

“Where are your gloves?” Martin asks.

“I have them with me,” I lie patting my pocket for effect.

“Good,” he replies, turning back towards the entrance.

“Stay outside,” I tell him. “I need to do this alone.”

He nods again. I take a deep breath and push the door open, stepping into the interrogation room. Victor sits there with his cuffs on. His eyes widen slightly when he sees me, but the smirk never leaves his face.

“Surprised to see me, Victor?”

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “A little. But then again, you always were full of surprises.”

“Do you know why I’m here?”

“Of course,” he says, his smirk growing. “But you should know by now, little girl, that nothing you do can change what’s happened.”

I glare at him, my hands trembling with barely restrained rage. “You think this is about changing the past? This is about making sure you pay for what you’ve done. For Mom. For Isla. For every other life you’ve ruined.”

He laughs, a dark, mocking sound that makes my skin crawl. “You’re delusional if you think this ends well for you. Your lover boy, Richard, he’s going to find out eventually. And when he does, you’ll be right back in a cage.”

“Better a cage than letting you walk free,” I hiss, stepping closer until I’m looming over him. “You deserve every bit of hell that’s coming your way.”

He looks me up and down as if he’s trying to size me up, like I'm still that scared little girl he used to mess with. “Always had that fire in you, huh? Too bad you never learned when to shut the fuck up and stay out of trouble. You’re in over your head, baby girl.”

“You have no fucking clue what I’m capable of,” I growl as I step into his space. His smirk is back, but there’s something darker in his eyes now.

“Oh, I know exactly what you’re capable of,” he says. “Drugging your own mother just to get out of the basement? Bold. Stupid as hell, but bold.”

“And it worked, didn’t it?” I bite out. “She’s out of your reach now. I got her out. I won.”

Victor’s eyes narrow, and his smirk fades into something harder. He shifts in his seat, the chains rattling softly with the movement. For the first time, he looks almost somber. “Contrary to what you believe,” he says quietly, his tone startlingly devoid of mockery, “I never wanted Ava in that basement forever.”

A laugh bursts from my lips. It’s not a joyful sound—it’s raw, bitter, and tinged with something dangerously close to hysteria. I press a hand to my mouth, trying to stop the laugh from turning into something worse.

“You never wanted her in that basement forever ?” I repeat as I lower my hand. My laugh bubbles up again, and I take a shaky step back. “You never wanted her there forever? Oh, that’s rich, Victor. That’s really fucking rich.”

He doesn’t respond right away, he’s probably waiting for me to burn myself out.

“Believe it or not,” he sighs, “I just needed a push.” He tilts his head, his smirk returning. “You think I didn’t notice the moment Ava went unconscious? The second you opened your eyes, I knew you’d done something to her. I wasn’t sure if whatever you gave her would kill her, but—”

“I would never—”

“Well, it sure didn’t look like ‘never’ to me.” His voice sharpens, slicing right through me. “But your love for that agent made me wonder. Made me believe you’d go to any lengths to save him. Even if it meant doing something unthinkable. That threat alone was enough to make me let her go.”

“Stop.”

“That’s the funny part, isn’t it?” He’s grinning now, and it’s cruel and self-satisfied. “You didn’t even have to say it. I knew you’d go as far as you needed to. I knew you’d—”

“ Stop !” I scream, the word ripping out of me like it might tear me apart.

He doesn’t stop. “What? Go too far? Poison her? Sacrifice her to save him?”

“ No, no, no, no !” My hands fly to my ears. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to sit there and play the good guy now. You don’t get to pretend like you were going to let her go, like you didn’t chain her down there for years while feeding us your bullshit promises. You’re trying to rewrite history, but it’s not going to work. I won. Do you hear me? I fucking won . She’s out, and she’s out because of me.”

My hands are shaking now, and I clench them into fists. “You’ve taken everything from me—my childhood, my trust, my fucking sanity—but you don’t get to take this. You don’t get to twist this into some story where you’re the hero.”

“You’re right,” he says, ignoring me completely. “You did win. You got her out. But what did you really win, Izel? Do you even know what you’re up against now? What you’ve set loose?”

Deep down, in the darkest corners of my mind where I bury every fear I’m not ready to face, I know he’s right. I know exactly what I’ve set loose. No matter how much I fight it, no matter how much I tell myself I’ve won, there’s a part of me that knows I’m going to lose Richard.

Victor doesn’t even have to say it.

“You think I don’t see what’s coming?” I spit out. “Richard is too good for this. Too good for me. He’ll protect me, even if it kills him. Even if it means letting a bastard like you walk free.” I take a step closer, my glare burning into him. “But I’m not like him, Victor. I’m a vile human being—you made sure of that. And that’s exactly why I won’t let you walk. You deserve to rot in hell, and I’ll make damn sure you do.”

“You?” he drawls, leaning back against his seat. “You’re going to kill me?” He chuckles like the idea alone is a joke. “Oh, I’d love to see you try. Go on then, little girl. Prove you’ve got the guts Prove that you’re not weak. Prove that you’re not just like all those other girls I had fun with. They screamed, they begged, but in the end, they all broke. Just like you will.”

“You think their pain makes you powerful? You’re just a fucking coward who hides behind chains and cages because you can’t stand the idea of someone fighting back.”

“Oh, I love it when they fight back. The struggle... the desperation in their eyes right before they break. It’s beautiful, Izel. You’ll see, once you’re on your knees, begging for it to stop.”

I grab the chair in front of me and hurl it to the side. “You’re going to die tonight, one way or another. And I’m going to make sure you know what it feels like to be powerless.”

“Come on then,” he sneers, leaning forward, his cuffs rattling against the table as he moves. “Do it. You’ve got the gun. Shoot me. Or maybe you’re too scared. Maybe you’re just another weak, broken girl, playing at being tough.”

My hand trembles as I pull out the gun. His smirk fades, his eyes flicking to the barrel aimed at him. For a second, there’s silence, but then he laughs again, softer this time. “You won’t do it. You’re not like me.”

I grit my teeth, aiming at his face before lowering the barrel just slightly. “No, I’m not like you.” I fire, the shot cracking through the room. His cuffs snap apart, the chain breaking. The smirk is gone now, his face pale as he looks down at his freed wrists.

He flexes his hands, rolling his shoulders like he's getting ready for a fight. “Oh, I see now. You want this up close and personal.” He stands, towering over me now, and the room feels ten times smaller. “This is what you wanted, right? A real fight? You think you can beat me?”

I step back, gripping the gun tighter. He’s free now, and I feel the shift in the room. I wanted this. I wanted him to feel fear, but now that he’s standing there, all those years of being scared of him come rushing back. But fuck that. I can’t let him win.

“Come on, little girl,” he taunts, stepping closer. “Show me what you’ve got. Show me you’re not as weak as they were. Fight me, or I’ll make sure your last moments are as painful as theirs.”

“Fuck you,” I spit, raising the gun again.

His hand knocks the gun out of mine, the clatter echoing as it skids across the floor. My heart slams against my ribs as the adrenaline starts roaring in my veins. I don’t even think—I swing my fist, hard, and it connects with his jaw. His head snaps to the side, and I stagger back.

He wipes the blood from his lip with the back of his hand and smirks. “That’s the only one you’ll land.”

“We’ll see about that,” I growl, my fists clenching tighter.

Then his fist comes flying. I barely see it before it slams into my face, sending me stumbling back. My knees buckle and I hit the ground hard. He’s on me in seconds, straddling me, his fists raining down like fucking hammers. My head snaps back with each hit. Pain explodes across my cheek, my lip, my nose. I taste blood.

“Still think you’re tough?” he sneers, driving his fist into my ribs again.

Fuck. I can barely breathe. My vision swims, but I force myself to focus. I hook my legs around his waist, twisting hard, using his weight against him. He doesn’t see it coming. His balance shifts, and I roll us over. Now I’m on top.

I slam my fist into his face. Once. Twice. The crack of bone under my knuckles is sickening, but I don’t stop. “This is for Isla,” I spit, hitting him again, my fist landing square on his jaw. He groans, but I’m not finished. “This is for my mom.” My knuckles find his nose this time, the blood pouring from it in thick, red streams.

I barely register the sharp pain in my side until it’s too late. He’s grabbed the broken handcuff from the floor, and the jagged metal digs into the flesh above my scar. I scream, jerking away from him, clutching my side as blood seeps through my fingers.

Victor's eyes gleam with satisfaction as he pulls himself up, blood trickling from his split lip. “You think you can beat me?” he sneers, kicking at my side.

I try to get to my feet, but the pain has me curling up.

He crouches next to me, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at him. “What are you fighting for? You can't have kids. You're worth nothing. No one wants a broken little bitch like you.”

His words hit harder than any punch. I freeze for a moment, my mind going blank. All the years of pain, all the lies I’ve told myself to stay sane—they come crashing down in that moment. But I force the bile back down, force myself to move because I’m not done yet.

He lunges, his hands wrapping around my throat before I can fully react. I choke on the sudden pressure, my hands flying to his wrists to pry them off. My nails dig into his skin, but he squeezes harder.

“Do you know what’s really sad?” he says. “Your FBI lover? He’s going to move on. He’ll find someone who can give him what you never could. A family. A real life. Someone who’s not damaged beyond repair.”

The room’s spinning. Black spots start consuming my vision. My legs flail in search of leverage, but he has the upper hand. I’m losing.

Just when I think I’m done for, I hear it. A sound—something shifting in the room. Both our heads snap toward the source of the noise. He loosens his grip just enough for me to suck in a ragged breath. I take the opportunity, using the last bit of strength I’ve got to shove my knee into his groin as hard as I fucking can.

He grunts in pain, doubling over, and I don’t waste any time. I scramble to my feet and kick him hard in the ribs, sending him sprawling back. His face twists in agony, and I move fast, grabbing the gun off the floor.

Blood trickles down my cheek from the cut above my eyebrow, but I wipe it away with the back of my hand. “Game over.”

He growls, trying to get back up, but I’m done with his shit. When he lunges at me, I step forward and slam my booted heel down on his ankle, pressing hard.

“You fucking bitch,” he spits, attempting to kick me, but I press harder, twisting my heel into his leg until I feel his bones grind beneath the pressure.

“Keep talking, and I’ll make sure your insides are scattered so wide, they’ll be calling in the rats to clean up,” I snap, not moving an inch, the gun still in my hand, aimed at his chest. “You like playing games, right? Well, this one’s fucking done.”

He lets out a groan as he tries to move, but he’s trapped, and I realize I’ve won. I crouch down, meeting his eyes, smirking despite the throbbing pain in my body. “You’re not so tough now, are you? You thought you could keep breaking people, keep getting away with it. But it’s over, Victor. You lost.”

He tries to throw another insult my way, but I dig my heel in deeper, silencing him with a pained grunt. “And in the next life when you want to fuck with someone’s life,” I lean in, “make sure they aren’t willing to burn your entire world to the ground.”

I aim the gun and fire. The shot cracks through the room, and Victor howls in pain, his hand instinctively clutching his leg where the bullet hit. I step closer, watching him writhe on the ground, his cries getting louder with each second. His blood pools beneath him, but it’s not enough. Not for everything he’s done. Not for the lives he destroyed. My vision blurs, and before I know it, a single tear slips down my cheek—my first in a decade.

I don’t hesitate as I press my boot down on his wound, grinding my heel into the open flesh. His screams grow louder and with every cry, another tear falls, spilling over, and then another, like some dam breaking deep inside me. It’s strange, but I don’t try to stop it. The tears come, one after the other, faster and harder, washing over me in a way I didn’t know I needed. Each sob wracks my chest, cleansing me, shaking free every bitter piece I’d buried for so long.

“You… are… just… like… me…” His words drip with venom, cutting through the brief peace that’s settled over me, dragging me right back into the darkness.

My heel twists sharply against his flesh, and he howls in pain.

“The thing about monsters like you,” I start, “is you always assume we’re the same. You see me as your mirror, but here’s the truth: mirrors don’t reflect reality. They shatter. And I’m about to shatter you.”

His lips part to spew more poison and I glare down at him, and I realize I’m done. Done with his godawful voice, done with his poison, done letting him take up any more space in my life.

I aim again—this time at his throat.

“Shut up,” I whisper, and pull the trigger.

The bullet tears through his neck, silencing his scream with a wet, gurgling sound. Blood sprays, coating his hands as they fly up to the wound, desperate to stop the flow, but it’s already too late. His eyes widen, his breaths coming in choked, desperate gasps. He’s drowning in his own blood, coughing and sputtering.

I should feel something—regret, guilt, anything—but I don’t.

I lean down closer, my lips brushing his ear. “I wish I could take my time with you. Strangle you with your own fucking intestines. But I don’t have the luxury of time.”

He gurgles, trying to speak, but all that comes out is more blood. His eyes are pleading now, begging for mercy, but he doesn’t deserve any. Not after what he’s done. Not after the lives he’s destroyed.

With tears still running down my face, I press the gun to the side of his chest, right where the vein connects to his heart. “You think dying is the worst thing that can happen to you?” I whisper. “No, it’s realizing that someone like me is still out there… and you were never enough to stop me.”

I pull the trigger one last time.

His body jerks once, then goes limp. The blood pools around him and his eyes stare blankly up at the ceiling. No more smug smirks, no more taunts. Just silence.

The tears start to slow, trailing down my cheeks until they dry up completely. All the lives I’ve taken before this—they weren’t mine to claim. Not really. They were forced, out of survival, out of necessity. But this? This was different. This was my decision. I decided he would die.

I leave the gun on the table with my fingerprints all over it. I pull on the untouched gloves from my pocket, too drained to argue with Martin. We need to get out of here.

Martin steps out from behind a stack of crates. He looks rattled—more rattled than I’ve ever seen him. Hell, I fully expected him to start chewing me out by now. We had a plan. I was supposed to shoot Victor and get the fuck out, not go all-in and have a full-blown fight with the bastard.

“You look like shit,” he mutters instead.

“No shit,” I snap, rubbing my knuckles, still aching from the punches I threw. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, and my body feels heavy, like all the weight of what just happened is finally hitting me.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Follow me,” he says, moving swiftly towards the far end of the room. He stops at a seemingly solid wall and starts feeling around the edges. Within moments, he finds what he’s looking for—a hidden panel. With a quick press, the wall slides open to reveal a dark passageway.

“Underground tunnels,” Martin explains, his eyes scanning for any signs of trouble. “This detention center used to be a military bunker. These tunnels lead out to the forest about a mile from here.”

I hesitate for a split second, then steel myself. “Let’s go.”

We start walking inside the passage. The passageway is narrow, forcing us to move in single file. Martin leads the way with a flashlight in his hand casting long shadows on the rough stone walls.

“Stay close,” he whispers. “These tunnels are tricky. Easy to get lost if you don’t know the way.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. We continue taking slow, deliberate steps when suddenly Martin stops, holding up a hand. I nearly crash into him.

“What is it?”

“Listen,” he replies.

We stand in silence, straining to hear any sounds that might indicate we’ve been followed. For a moment, there’s nothing but the distant dripping of water and the muffled hum of the detention center above us. Then, faintly, I hear a rumbling sound.

“Looks like the guards have figured it out,” Martin says with urgency. “We need to move. Now.”

We pick up the pace. My legs burn, and my heart pounds, but I push through the pain. Martin’s flashlight flickers, and for a moment, we’re plunged into darkness. My stomach drops, but he smacks it, and the light returns, albeit dimmer.

“Not much further,” he says. “Just keep going.”

Finally, we reach a rusted metal ladder bolted to the wall. Martin gestures for me to go first. I hesitate, looking up into the darkness, but then start climbing, my hands slipping on the damp rungs.

At the top, I push against a heavy hatch. It doesn’t budge at first, but with a grunt of effort, it finally gives way, opening into a dense thicket of underbrush. I climb out. Martin is right behind me, and we quickly pull the hatch shut.

“Through here,” Martin says, leading the way through the forest. We move quickly but quietly, the sounds of the forest masking our footsteps. The rumbling sound from the tunnel is gone, but I know it’s only a matter of time before they find the hatch.

We break through the tree line, and I see a dirt road ahead. Parked just off the road is a beat-up old truck, its engine running.

“Get in,” Martin orders, and I don’t hesitate.

As soon as we’re inside, Martin floors it, the tires kicking up dirt and gravel as we speed away. I glance back to see the detention center fading into the distance. I’m praying to God I never feel this good about sending a life to hell again. The rush of adrenaline is intoxicating, and it feels good—so fucking good. But with that, my heart sinks. I’ve just lost any possibility I had with Richard. He’d asked me to trust him, and I do, but I don’t trust the system. At least I have a few moments to cherish while doing my sentence in prison.

Richard… I can only hope he’ll move on. Sure, he’ll hate me, but everything I touch ends up scarred. Everything I hold, I leave my claw marks on, bleeding out the love until it’s all pain. He’ll hate me now, but at least he’ll be free from my curse.

Martin veers off the main road, heading towards my apartment like we’d planned. I shake my head and look over at him. “No, take me to Hollowbrook.”

He glances at me, confusion etched on his face. “Hollowbrook? Why?”

“I need to see my mom.”

Martin doesn’t question me further. He just nods and turns the truck around, heading towards Hollowbrook. The drive is silent mostly, and as we pull up to Montclair manor, I glance around nervously. Thankfully, there are no cops in sight. I guess they’ve found everything they were looking for already. Martin parks the car, and I step out. I walk up to the front door and knock.

My grandma opens the door, her eyes widening in surprise. Without a word, she pulls me into a tight hug, and bursts into tears.

“Izel,” she whispers. “Izel, my dear, what has happened?”

She’s never called me Izel before. It’s always been Isla. Hearing her say my real name breaks something inside me, and I sob, clinging to her. She kisses my face frantically, her hands shaking as she strokes my hair.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry for what that monster did. I never wanted this for you.”

“I know, Grandma,” I manage to choke out between sobs. “I know.”

Her affection is overwhelming, a stark contrast to the hell I’ve been through. She keeps apologizing, and her words blend into a soothing murmur as she tries to comfort me. Finally, I pull back slightly and ask, “Where’s Mom?”

“She’s here,” my grandma says, stepping aside.

My mom appears from behind her. “Izzie.”

How does one talk to their mother after they’ve just committed a crime, a murder of all things? I guess I’m about to find out.