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No. Alex is mine. Mine to maim. Mine to kill. I won’t fail this time around. “No, I’ll get it done.”

I don’t miss the way they look at each other when I make my way out of Hayden’s office.

Two years ago, I stopped my brothers from killing Alex. That was a mistake on my part. I won’t let it happen it again.

***

I sit in the dark, my feet up on the kitchen table. The metal of my knife gleams from the moonlight that spills through the window. It’s seven p.m. and the sun has long descended into the horizon. The city has fallen quiet, scents of evening dinners and the autumnal chill wafting through the open windows.

As safe a neighbourhood as this is, Alex should stop leaving his windows open, especially with no alarm system installed, but his lack of self-preservation has worked to my advantage tonight.

I twirl the knife in my hand, pricking the tip of my pointer finger and watching a dot of blood spill out. I usually prefer guns—less messy—but tonight I want to take my time.

The sound of a key sliding into the lock and turn makes me smile. The handle slides down and the door swings open before the room is flooded in golden light from the living room lights. There’s a breathless pause before Alex appears, eyes wide and his hand already reaching for his gun.

“What the—”

“Hi, Lexie,” I wave, the knife still in my hand.

I watch his face drain of its colour, his mouth falling open. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?” He looks at the door, then back at me, like he’s trying to figure out if I picked his lock or something.

I shrug. “That’s not important.” I look down at my knife, gleaming under the golden lights of the open-plan kitchen.

Alex, to his credit, doesn’t hesitate. He pulls out his gun immediately, pointing it downward to the floor and not putting a hole in my forehead immediately. Bad move.

“I’m serious, Rowan. Why are you in my house? How did you even get into the building?”

I tilt my head, pushing myself out of the chair and standing. We’re almost eye to eye, but I have more muscle on his lithe and tapered body.

His eyes don’t leave mine as I approach him, and I revel in it. I want his attention solely on me when I break him.

“Are you going to shoot me?” I ask.

His grip tightens around the gun, his jaw clenching. “Will I have to?”

I stop just in front of him. We’re mere inches apart, and I can smell his clean scent. Alexander Kimura has always smelt like a summer’s day. He smells like fresh laundry that has been hung up in the sun. It makes my stomach roll because it’s all so false. Everything about him is smoke and mirrors. Under all of it, I know lies something else and I want it to come out. I want the truth.

“Yes,” I say. “But first, I need you to be honest with me.”

He glares. “Honest about what?”

Tension fills his straight shoulder as his eyes dart to the knife at my side. The tip of his tongue sticks out and he runs it against his bottom lip in a quick swipe.

He’s terrified. Just the way I like him.

“Was this your plan all along?” I ask. “You couldn’t get me the first time, so you’re coming after me again?” I take another step towards him and we’re almost touching. He instinctively moves back until the back of his head touches the closed front door.

“If you don’t step back now, I will shoot you,” he says.

“Ooh, did you learn that during your de-escalation training?” I laugh. “This is not a situation you can de-escalate, Alex.”

He lifts the gun from his side, unclicking the safety. I back off as he lifts it, pointing it at my chest. His hand is steady, and his nostrils flare. “I don’t want to shoot you, Rowan. Just … just step back.”

“Do it,” I tell him. “Shoot me.”

He watches me for a second, then he lifts an eyebrow in question. “What do you think will happen if I shoot you here?” he asks, voice deceptively level. He must be used to situations like this, trying to calm down big bad men like me and get them to cooperate through some bullshit good cop act. “If I shoot the future Head of The Snake, the governor will give me a medal.”

I laugh because, of course that’s what he’s thinking about. A fucking medal from the governor. “Detective Alexander Kimura. Senna’s best. That’s all you’ve ever wanted, isn’t it?” I ask.