40. Fiora

The air smells like iron and sulfur.

A long moment passes, then another, and another. It's as if the world freezes before me. Did Marco's bullet hit Braken? Is he okay? Maybe Marco shot himself. That would be the best-case scenario.

But Braken grunts, and my heart plunges into my stomach.

Shit, where did he get hit? He's still rolling around but when he stops and shields his face from one of Marco's blows, he's sporting a pinched and pained scowl.

It can't be. I must do something. Anything. But why can't I move? My legs are shaking and too weak to stand. Mostly because I'm sitting dangerously close to the dead man from where Marco pushed me.

God. I can't even look at him. Vomit threatens my stomach and throat. I push away from him, trying to ignore his mangled hair and lifeless body. I can still see the way his head ricocheted with Marco's shot. Feel his warm blood and brains covering my face. Hear the ringing of the gun when Marco pulled the trigger. It shouldn't have ended like this.

No, it can't end like this.

Braken risked his life to charge Marco. He could have been just like this man. Could have been flung off the top of the rooftop. Could have gone out protecting me. And honestly, he still can. I don't know how badly he's injured, but it means I must act quickly.

Braken headbutts Marco, and when Marco jerks back, he grabs Marco's wrist and twists. Marco's gun clatters to the ground uselessly, but when Braken tries to grab it, Marco slams Braken's back into the rocky rooftop and gets in a clean punch. Braken barely even reacts. He kicks Marco off, forcing a knee into his side so he can get on top.

The gun. A wave of strength washes over me, and I scramble to where it dropped. If I can shoot Marco, I can end this whole thing now. But can I get a shot off without hurting Braken even more? I'm no stranger to guns, but it's not like I'm some trained sniper. I'm just a rich man's daughter. I'll never forgive myself if I fuck up and take Braken's life.

I stand, the gun warm between my clammy hands. I can't tell where Braken ends and Marco begins. It's a flurry of movement. Hands, feet, clothes, hair. It's a struggle for control, and I'm not sure who's winning. There's no good opening for a shot. They roll around like two schoolboys fighting on the playground, but this isn't some simple spat. This is a fight to the death, and I won't let Braken be taken from me.

If I can't shoot at the men, I'll shoot the air.

I fire the warning shot high, hoping it startles Marco enough for Braken to get his bearings. Well, I thought it was a good idea anyway. But Marco doesn't even flinch. It's like he doesn't even realize I'm there. Fury radiates from his red, sweaty face. If I thought he looked unhinged before, that's nothing to the twisted, murderous look on his mug now.

More blood coats the ground. Is it Braken's? Marco's? Mine? I don't know, and I don't want to find out. I lift the gun again, but this time point it to the space above Marco's head. The shot splits the air, the bullet burying itself in the concrete.

It's enough to break Marco's concentration. When he blinks and looks at me, even for that instant, Braken pounces.

He pushes Marco down, straddling his waist and attacking. Punch after punch after punch. Braken deals blow after blow to Marco's face, the dull sound of leather on flesh nearly buried by Marco's gurgled and blood-filled grunts. Even when Marco stops moving, Braken doesn't let up. He keeps punching like a man driven mad by bloodlust.

I must stop him. It's the only way I'll be able to save his life.

"Braken." My voice is broken, hoarse, more like a frog than a human.

Braken keeps hitting and hitting, Marco's blood splattering all over his black button-up.

"Braken!" I try again. Still, he doesn't listen to me.

I drop the gun and throw myself at Braken, squeezing his neck hard to bring him back from the darkness. He tries to fight me, but I hold steady, using what strength I possess to pry him off of Marco. Braken grabs onto my arms and squeezes so tightly I hiss. But I still don't let go, even when Braken shoulders me to try and get me off.

"Let go, Fiora," he growls. "I'm going to fucking kill him. He's dead."

"You can't."

"He put his fucking hands on you!" Braken rages. His face is marred by bruises and blood, his normally perfect hair a blend of dirt and sweat. "He killed your goddamn brother. He doesn't deserve mercy."

"He doesn't, but you do."

My subdued answer quiets him. He pulls back enough so he can regard me with narrowed eyes. Below him, Marco grunts but barely moves.

"Our story won't hold up if you're the one who kills him." I squeeze Braken's shoulders in reassurance. "I don't want this pinned on you."

"Our story, huh?" Braken tries to smirk, but it looks more like a grimace. "You're already thinking that far ahead?"

"We need to be."

I look down at Marco. Sad, pathetic Marco who thought he had the upper hand. Who used me for my connections like everyone else when I thought he was different. Toyed with my emotions just to go behind my back and kill my brother. The one who planned to end my life here today under the guise of suicide.

Why not give him a taste of his own medicine?

"He's going to kill himself from grief," I say. Braken narrows his eyes but he doesn't say anything. "He asked to meet me and kidnapped me. Brought me here against my will, but I fought back. You showed up to save me?—"

"Me and Jasper showed up to save you." Braken exhales and glances back at his fallen man. "One of the best men I had."

"We'll give him a proper burial." I brush a lock of hair from Braken's eyes and offer a soft smile. "Something fit for a king."

Braken grabs my hand and squeezes. His touch is cold from the leather gloves and makes me shiver. "He'd hate that. Always loved deep sea fishing."

"An at-sea burial then," I promise and take a breath. "After Marco shot Jasper, you exchanged words, some blows… and when he realized it was all over and he could never have me… he jumped."

It's true enough. It will also explain all our injuries and why our blood is everywhere in the parking garage. It also explains why there's a dead man near our feet.

Braken doesn't respond to the end of our joint story. He holds my gaze for a long, calculating moment before he grabs Marco's collar. He drags Marco's near-lifeless body over to the edge of the parking garage, right where I recently stood and contemplated my death. Marco doesn't put up a fight at all. His eyes are swollen shut, and his entire face is black, blue, and bloody.

I get one last good look at Marco, the man I used to love, now battered, bruised, and bound for Hell.

Braken stands him up, faces him outward, and throws him off the side of the building.

"Look away," he tells me. "I don't want you to see this."

I don't. I want to see. I want to face the demon head on.

The thud of Marco's body on the gravel and pipes below makes me cringe. Even without being nearly beaten to death, there's no way he could survive that five-story fall. I don't need to check to know Marco is gone.

Whatever adrenaline kept me upright disappears, and I fall onto my aching knees, letting out a long breath. I stare at my trembling hands that are covered in dirt, blood, and bruises. Not even two hours ago, I held onto Marco and prepared myself to let him go. But not like this. I only meant to cut him off, not see him killed. It's his own doing, but for some reason, my heart still thunders pathetically.

A rugged, leather-covered hand covers mine and squeezes. Braken bends down in front of me and brings a cold leather glove to my face.

"Are you okay?"

His question snaps me back to reality. I cling to his wrist, checking him all over for any further injuries.

"Are you okay? Marco shot you!"

"Grazed my arm." Braken motions down to a jagged cut in the fabric of his coat. "Stings like a bitch, but I'm fine."

"You know how to make a girl worry, you know," I tease half-heartedly. It feels wrong to joke when I'm sitting in someone's drying pool of blood. "Do you think the police will take Mason's death seriously now?"

"No," Braken immediately answers. "They never planned to in the first place. They protect themselves and that's it."

I frown. With Marco dead, there's no one to impede the investigation. But Marco was a high-ranking officer, so I'm sure the cops won't be too happy with our story. I hope they at least give me the decency of a shower before hours of grueling interviews.

But let them. I have nothing to hide. Marco played with fire and burned himself to the ground.

I lean into Braken's touch. "You can rest easy now, Mason."

Only a soft breeze answers me, but I pretend it's Mason responding. I'm sure he'd be proud of me for kicking Marco to the curb… literally.

Braken picks up his phone. "Hey," he begins. "I'm going to need you, Merrick, and Locke to cash in every favor you can and work your magic. Get my father involved, too. There's a high chance I'm going to get arrested by the end of the night, and I'm going to need you to help make sure that doesn't happen." Braken then quickly tells Soren the events of the night, the fact that Marco killed Mason, and how it ended in Marco jumping to his death.

I hear Soren ask if I am okay, which fills me with warmth. He sounds genuinely alarmed and scared shitless.

"She's fine, man. Beaten up, shaken, but the girl is one of the strongest bad asses I know. She didn't need me. I needed her."

Braken ends the call and seems content that his friends are going to take care of the situation.

"I'll call the police next." Braken exhales through his nose, running two leather-clad fingers along my mangled hair. "Then get you home. And don't even think about leaving bed for the next two days. You need rest."

I feel like I won't be able to. My body is so sore and tired, but my mind is alert, running through the scenes that just played out before me. But I nod anyway. I know better than to question Braken Frost.

Braken pats my head and steps away to call the police. I hug my arms close to my body, setting my chin on my knees. Sirens wail in the distance, sounding like the angry cry of lost souls.

These sirens might not be coming for me, but others will be. It's only a matter of time.

I can never escape who I am.