33. THE END

BUNNY

The fountain in front of his pearly mansion is more mesmerizing without all the grandiosity of the party before. There are no lights or glittering people loitering around her haunting edges. She stands alone, crying and broken. Whoever she is, we'll kill him for her too.

We left Mayor Williams parked on the street, rotting beneath a shady tree, while Cade and I amble up the long driveway. There are no cars. There are no lights. There is no one stopping us from walking up the small flight of stairs and throwing open the front door.

I will admit that surprised me a bit, but a man who feels he has nothing to fear hides from no one.

Unlike every time before, Cade doesn't walk in first. He holds my hand as we stroll in together, acting as my strength, as my support.

As my equal.

We may not have entered hell together, but we'll leave wrapped in each other"s arms. Through his grip, I feel his racing heart. It follows the same beat as my own, but his face shows no worry.

"Are you afraid?" I ask in the center of the foyer.

Glancing around the captivating and imposing display, he sends me a dazzling smile. "Always. But it'll be over soon. Are you?"

"Always."

He takes my other hand this time, the right one. "I got you." The blood doesn't transfer when he kisses every finger, but I confess, he's even more stunning without the stain.

We're careful when taking our steps, mindful of the echoes across the bouncing walls. I don't remember the layout. The party and all the scandal inside took up too much of my attention to map the entire house, but the stairs feel familiar. So, I push ahead and take the lead. I find myself pausing every four or so steps, cautious and a bit apprehensive when no sound has been heard.

"You think he's still there?"

"I wouldn't be surprised." That man does love a good party. Though that wouldn't be a bad thing. It'd give us time to settle, plan…prepare. Once on the second-floor landing, our theory of Marone being out seems that much more likely. Still, we hesitate before approaching the largest door on the left end of the hall.

"It's not down there?" Cade asks, pointing to the right.

Remembering the pounding that came from behind those doors, I shake my head. "No." Considering all we've been through, though, I wouldn't be surprised if someone was trapped behind the thick wood.

When the brass Victorian doorknob falls within an inch of our fingers, Cade pulls me back, stoically bringing me behind him. He acts as an unmoveable wall while pushing open the door, gun braced at his side. The heavy metal comes up instantly, finger on the trigger. I didn't realize how heavy the breath I was holding was until he switches on the light, displaying a grand, empty room. There's no sign of life within the four walls. Even the bed is made without a dent.

Stepping forward, I run my palms over the silk, navy, high-thread-count sheets, wondering how peacefully he sleeps, knowing we're begging for our lives in the dark. Jumping, I dig my knees into the mattress, clawing my way across.

"What are you doing?"

"Relaxing." Sprawling my blood-stained front over the expensive fabric, I rub every inch of my filth and fury in the bed he sleeps in. Marone will never get the chance to rest his head on these pillows again, but at least I'll know I ruined their worth the way he ruined ours. Taking the blade out of the back pocket of my pants, I press the sharpened tip into the delicate material, my smile growing when the music of each individual fiber tearing reaches my ears. At first, the slice is simple, a gentle, clean cut down the middle. I stare at it for a minute, thinking of me, Cade, Clara, and all the others who weren't slashed so honorably. For them, for us, I do to this bedroom what they so happily did to our bodies—what Cade and I did to theirs.

Feathers and pieces of luxury fly into the air and across the room as I rip everything to shreds. I make sure to leave the iron scent of his good ol' child-fucking friend in every nook and cranny until three hours pass on the clock. When he heard all the chaos, Cade walked out of the conjoined bathroom to make sure I was okay. When all he saw was the mess I made, he gladly left me to it, finding himself lost somewhere in the two king-sized closets. I wait, arms spread wide over my destruction, until I finally hear a sound outside the bedroom doors. My heart was racing from exertion. Now, it collides against my ribcage walls with a sickening thrill.

The little voice inside my head urges me to call out for Cade, warning me not to be alone when the devil walks through the door. That little voice was always the smartest part of me, and I never listened to her.

With the knife firmly clenched in my hand, I sit up straight. I may have lost who I was along the way, but I'll be fucking damned if I let him see that.

I can feel the blood slow in my veins as the handle begins to turn. Swiftly, I flick my eyes to the right, wondering when Cade will decide to emerge. I can't spend too much time thinking about that, though, because sooner than I'm ready, the door swings open, and I'm back to looking into the mesmerizing eyes of a monster.

Dressed in an all-black tux, Marone stands in the entryway with a smirk and no hint of fear on his handsome face. He watches me with a casual lean, something like fatherly pride beaming from him.

"My Bunny baby, you came home to me."

"Not quite," I deadpan, muscles stiffening when he begins to take slow steps toward the bed. I fight to keep the ripple of anxiety off my face, but for some reason, he can always sniff it out. A shark circling blood-infested waters, he comes in close, only a few feet from me.

At the foot of the cracked bedpost, Marone places his hands on stray feathers. "That's a real piece of art on the mayor there, sweetheart. I would say your best work since Colette. Assuming that was you and not the ungrateful bastard I took in."

His response is met with a loud bang and a bullet straight through the arm. "It was her," Cade utters, strolling out of one of the closets, gun held in a slightly wavering hand. I don't think Marone notices the minuscule quiver, too preoccupied with the blood pouring out of his bicep.

"You," he laughs, a shocked puff spewing between surprised lips, "are going to fucking die for that, boy."

I spring from my place on the bed as soon as he charges for Cade, but within a second of my hands and knees landing on the torn sheets, another shot rings out. This one sends Marone plummeting to the ground, kneecap blown to bits. I gaze with lust and admiration as Cade stomps over the gorey pieces, finger ready on the trigger.

Marone, doing his best to staunch the bleeding of both wounds, bares his teeth at Cade, eyeing the gun aimed in the center of his forehead. There's a challenge in his stare and readiness in Cade's. But luckily, neither of them lands on me.

While distracted, I maneuver myself off the bed and stalk behind Marone's hunched form. The imprints of the handle embed themselves into my palm, but at least I'm steady when I bring it into Marone's mouth. I feel him still against the blade as it pulls on the edge of his lips, his sneer slowly falling. It's the first time I've experienced genuine panic from a man I believed to be invincible. His mouth opens to speak, so I stick the tip inside, pressing it into the tender meat of his cheek.

"Do you know how many times I've been in this same position?" I ask, ripping my nails across his scalp. I don't stop until I feel the warmth of his blood pooling beneath my fingers. When I'm thoroughly coated, I drag the rich pigment from chin to cheek, leaving him the same stains I've had for weeks. "Do you know how many times I've had a knife in my mouth?"

"About the same number of times you've had a dick in there?"

He gets his first slice for that comment, a jagged, crooked line that runs from mouth to ear. Like me, Cade, and all the others who found themselves under a blade, Marone tries to run away. I welcome his attempt. It only makes the gash worse.

Standing a couple dozen feet away, Cade watches Marone pant with a smirk. The gun is still aimed between his eyes, but Cade's eager finger isn't as poised on the trigger. He's letting me play, since he's already got some licks in. And that's where we both go wrong.

Arrogance is the downfall of everyone, and our comfort becomes our ruin.

I was looking at Cade. He had his eyes on me. And no one was watching him. With a strength I didn't know he still contained, Marone flips me over his shoulder, rips my blade from my fingers, and digs it into my throat.

"Ah!" He laughs when Cade sprints forward, digging the tip into my unruly pulse. Free hand wrapping around my chest, Marone holds me to him, daring Cade to take another step. The blade is enough to keep me in place, but when his heated palm begins to glide south, I hate to admit that fear plays a part, too.

Stopping just above my clenched pelvis, Marone laughs, taunting Cade with a breathy tone. "Did you get your fill of my Bunny, dog? Did her tight little pussy satisfy you? My men sure seemed to enjoy her. They've been begging to have her back for more."

When his foot lifts, I scream, "Stop!" begging him not to move.

"That's right. Be a good boy and listen. That's all you're good for. Never could think on your own."

"Shut the fuck up!" I growl. My struggle causes the blade to pierce my skin. I don't think I would feel the sharp sting of the stab if I hadn't been following Cade's stare. The blue of his gaze, so full of anger and hate, follows the slender drip down my neck. The last time he saw me bleed was in that tunnel where he promised me never again. I break when I see his stare shatter, knowing he thinks he failed me.

"Cade, shoot."

"Yeah, Blade." Marone smiles, refusing to call him by his name. "Shoot. But can you kill me before I slice this pretty little neck open?" He dares him to try while jabbing the knife in a fraction deeper, his fingers rubbing nauseating circles around my jean-clad clit.

My whimper escapes me faster than I can catch, wounding Cade just a bit more. "I'm fine," I promise him with tears beading, ignoring the bile burning holes in my stomach. I can see my own pain reflected in my other half, but I hold strong, knowing he's doing everything he can not to flinch. Marone, though, enjoys seeing his prizefighter broken and decides a taste of it isn't enough.

"You love this little one, dog? Want me to let her go?" Cade doesn't respond, but I'm glad about it. Something about the way Marone speaks makes it feel like a trick. "No? You don't give a fuck about her? Wouldn't care if I let every man I own fuck her from the inside out?" That comment gets a reaction out of Cade. Not a response, but a low, animalist growl that hints Cade's teetering on the edge.

Pleased, Marone presses on. "What would you do to save her?"

The answer is instant.

"Anything."

Nudging my throat with the blade, Marone brings his lips close, swirling his tongue around the shell of my ear before whispering, "Let's find out what your man is made of."

I was around Marone long enough to have studied every curve and line of his smirk, but his smile now has my heart failing to beat. He turns that grin on Cade, nodding to the gun.

"For the most part, you were an obedient boy. I'll reward you for that. Put a bullet in your bicep," Marone declares, smile never falling. "We'll have matching wounds. Both thanks to you."

Cade stands statuesque. The gun, still this entire time, twitches faintly while he absorbs Marone's demand.

"Don't!" I scream, but his eyes are on the blade. I can see it reflected in his frenzied, intense stare, its point against my pulse. "Cade! Don't!" But the barrel turns, blowing a violent hole through his skin with a deafening bang. My Cade doesn't flinch, but the agony shows in the paling of his cheeks—in the quick, shattered fall of his lips. I cry for Cade because he never would, and I take a fraction of his pain in the form of a slit throat, cutting myself deeper as I fight to get out of Marone's hold.

"Let me go! Fuck you! Let me go!" I cry, and I thrash, and I bleed across his arm, and Marone laughs and laughs and laughs, allowing me to injure myself further.

"Look at our girl, boy. Look what you do to her."

Refusing to show weakness by reaching for his wound, Cade grinds out through gritted teeth. "Let her fucking go."

"Not yet," Marone decides, pretending to ponder what comes next. We both already know, though—matching wounds.

"Blow your kneecap. I want to see chunks besides mine."

"No!" I roar, but my fight is cut short when his palm spears beneath my shirt.

Roughly, Marone palms my breast, kneading and pulling the tender mound until tears well in my eyes. "Well, come on," he groans. "Or do you need some motivation?" Slowly, the blade falls from its place on my neck, traveling down until the tip pokes through the seam of my jeans.

I feel the wet metal breaking through the fabric, threatening to rip into my clenched opening. Everything in me screams to run, to get myself out of this in any way I can, but I won't hurt Cade for it.

Closing my eyes, I prepare for the searing burn of the knife, but the boom of a bullet hits my ears instead, followed by a heartbroken cry and the thud of Cade crashing to the ground.

The blood pouring from me doesn't compare to the gushing coming from his leg. The gun, now discarded and alone, is forgotten while Cade grabs hold of his knee. He doesn't look at me as I wail his name. He doesn't look anywhere but the gaping, grisly hole. With tears streaming down my face, I plead for Marone to let me go. "Please let me go to him," I sob, watching Cade try to hold himself together.

"Shh. Shh, my sweet little Bunny," is all I'm met with, his hand running through my hair. "We're almost finished here." I barely comprehend his insincere kindness over the ringing in my head and soft mewls twenty feet away. It isn't until he begins calling out for Cade that I realize he has one final command.

"Blow your brains out. I want to see what color paints my walls."

Cries don't flow out of me. Instead, I've replaced my tears with sickness, spewing my insides all over me and the space between us. Marone hardly notices, or he simply doesn't care. Remnants of food and stomach acid coat his hand, yet all he does is wipe it across my pant leg and urge Cade toward the gun.

"Pick it up."

"Please." It's the first time Cade has begged for mercy, some leniency, but Marone just laughs. He laughs a full, belly-bouncing laugh before shaking his head. "Pick it up, or I fucking gut her."

"Let him!" I demand, throwing myself into the knife. Marone pulls it away at the last second, refusing to let me take away his joy. Again, I try to impale myself on the blade, but Marone jerks my head roughly to the right, further splitting open the gash on my throat.

"You want something in that rotten cunt so bad, you give me a minute. Right now, I have to deal with my boy."

"He's not yours!" I snarl, attempting to writhe out of his hold. Marone repays me by digging his nails across my scalp—matching wounds.

Impatience brewing, Marone finally breaks his hollow

tenderness. "Fucking now! Pick up that fucking gun, or I will fuck her on this knife and make you swallow her fucking insides! Pick up the fucking gun, dog!"

"Okay!" Cade roars, voice cracking at the end. Though it must be excruciating, Cade crawls on his fragmented knee, his eyes never leaving mine. I can see the goodbye drowning in his tears, the apology pouring down his beautiful face—the I love you across his lips.

I can't force a yell. I can barely get his name out, but I need to call for him. I need him to hear me. "Cade… Please."

"Shut the fuck up," Marone demands and slaps me over the head, but it isn't necessary. He's getting what he wants.

Weakly, Cade stands to his feet, his chest heaving and hyperventilating as he opens his mouth, ready to place the barrel between his teeth. I can hear myself screaming his name in my head, but I don't think I got the chance to call out before the door behind me bursts open.

It"s so strange, how time can slow right before a life-changing moment. I think it could be a gift, but in this case, I think it's my punishment.

Time was normal when the room door came crashing open, when Cade was ready to pull the trigger, and then everything dimmed. Every noise stopped… But there was a hole in Cade's head anyway. His eyes remained open, and he didn't fall immediately. Cade stayed frozen, blue stare still on me while blood came pouring down.

Time returned to normal, and every sound came back at once. I didn't hear the police behind me or Marone's terrified explanation of how we intruded and threatened his life. I didn't hear him lie and describe how we tortured him.

All I heard was my heart breaking.

And whatever was left of my soul ceased to exist the moment Cade truly slipped away.

Marone let me go when an officer came close, and I listened to them shout for me to freeze, but I crawled through the bloodied floor and cradled the boy I loved so deeply.

With tears running down my cheeks, I carefully lifted his red-soaked head and placed him in my lap. "Shh," I sputter, brushing my fingers through his hair. I ignore how my nails tangle in the carnage, hoping he feels some comfort.

"I love you, Cade."

Until the end, I can still hear him say.

Until the end.