Page 45

“Give it,” I tell Dimitri and without hesitation, he hands me the gun. “Be ready to leave,” I add, sliding from under Hope’s head and standing up. She gazes up at me, blinks away the sleep in her eyes.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Ending it all,” I say, a weak smile tilting on my lips.
Jaxon blinks at me. “Need help?”
I shake my head. “He made me. I’m doing this alone.”
I look at Hope, searching for something in her eyes. A sign that she gets it. That she understands. All I see is fear and pain.
I walk out before I can change my mind.
The air is colder. The light is fading. Coach leans against the tree, his head lolling forward. Blood stains his shirt, his face. Hope’s marks on him are clear and brutal. She did more damage than any of us expected.
I stand over him, letting memories flood back. The first time he saw the marks on my arms, the way he promised to make me strong enough to never be hurt again. The way I believed him.
I wonder if he knew, even then, how much damage he would do. How he would twist me into something I couldn’t recognize. I wonder if he planned it.
I crouch down, my shadow falling over his battered face. He stirs, lifting his head and giving me a bloody sneer.
He laughs weakly, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. “She’s a slut. Just like her mom.”
“Not going to let you hurt her again,” I say as I edge back.
I square my shoulders and cock the gun, the sound loud in the stillness.
I swallow, my grip tightening on the gun.
“Go on,” he taunts, his eyes glinting. “You know you want to.”
My hand trembles. I hesitate. Fuck.
The crunch of footsteps behind me makes me flinch. I glance over my shoulder and see them—Hope, Jaxon, and Dimitri, all watching me with unreadable expressions.
“We can’t risk him getting away,” Jaxon grits as he stops beside me, his eyes flicking to Hope.
I look at them—at Hope, her hands raw and her spirit unbroken. At Dimitri, his jaw set in grim resolve. At Jaxon, his face hard but his eyes fierce with loyalty. I raise the gun on Coach, my fingers clenching around it.
“Do it,” Jaxon urges, his voice low.
My stare meets Coach’s and my hand quivers.
He deserves to die.
We deserve to be free.
My finger tightens on the trigger and yet my grip isn’t as strong as I thought as Hope slips in front of me, pushes me aside, and takes the gun from me.
Her small frame moves quick and she lifts the gun, aiming it at her dad’s forehead.
“Hope, no, you shouldn’t carry this.” Dimitri tries to reach her but her hold is unyielding.
Strong.
Powerful.
Hope.
To be continued…