Page 73 of Envy

“I’ll enjoy killing him,” I murmur, searching her beautiful brown eyes. “But his death is yours to take, if you want it.”

To my surprise, she spares only a glance for her parents, seeing one of the crew tending to her mother as others drag her stepfather’s body into a position better suited for their cover story. And then she prowls forward and takes the gun.

“Why the story of Jonah?” she asks, cocking her head as she looks down at her abuser. “You were always fascinated by him, but his pride led him down the wrong path. He was literally swallowed by a whale, and only then did he ask to be forgiven.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” Jonathan says, chest heaving.

There’s so much blood around him. Too much. I must’ve hit one of those deep veins in his leg. At this point, I’m not sure another bullet is necessary, but Evie deserves to claim this.

“I’m the whale,” Jonathan pants, sounding as self-righteousas ever. “I’m the trial each sinner must face, and in so doing, I gift them the chance to return to God. To meet their Lord with a clear conscience. What I did to you, Evie, was just the beginning.”

My blood boils, fury igniting in a raging inferno.

“Those pictures,” he rushes on, sensing the end is near. “The videos. I helped you purge the sin?—”

Fuck it. I know I should let Evie handle it, but this bastard deserves to experience every ounce of pain I can wring from him.

But then my little fox raises the gun.

A red hole appears in the center of Jonathan’s forehead a heartbeat before I process the ringing of the shot.

49

SILAS

My brothers still. Even the cleaners, busy wiping evidence and planting new ones, freeze. Chunks of Jonathan’s brain arc behind him in scarlet spray, coating the lower half of the wall and floor as his lifeless body tumbles forward. The faint wail of sirens breaks the haunted silence, bringing reality crashing down around us.

“Shit,” one of the cleaners says, springing into action. The others follow, mopping up Jonathan’s mess while dragging Jameson forward.

“I’ll take that,” Dominic says gently, plucking his gun from Evie’s trembling, outstretched hand.

“Time to go,” Bane calls.

Evie is still paralyzed, watching wide-eyed as one of the cleaners places a gun in Jameson’s limp hand while the other presses the barrel to the bullet hole in Jonathan’s skull, still trying to find the perfect angle for the bodies.

I catch her when her knees buckle, carrying her toward the exit after my brothers. She looks so fragile curled into my chest, her lashes closed over damp cheeks splattered with blood. Staring down at the swollen cuts across her perfect face,feeling the hitch in her breath that signals silent tears, and knowing what happened here today will only add to her nightmares—I wonder if I’ve done enough.

If you’d asked me a year ago, the answer would’ve been easy. Apart from sacrificing Tempest and my brothers, I would’ve let the world burn to save my sister—I have. I still would. But things don’t seem as clear as they once were.

I’ve been trapped in an endless cycle of punishing while still hurting. Plagued by the knowledge that for every few I save, there are thousands still out there. Suffering. My heart hammers against my ribs, spurred on by fear—and worst of all, hope—that this could be the day that changes everything.

Morana could be safe in just a few hours.

Returned home at last.

We reach the stairs when the shot rings out behind us, blending with the blare of nearby sirens. I glance over my shoulder, clutching Evie tighter as I catch the fresh spray of brain matter and blood, the mess cast in a perfect splatter to complete the story the cleaners have concocted.

And then they’re with us, bounding up the back of the church and into a waiting van as I position Evie between my thighs and start my engine. Our motorcycles peel out, slipping down a small service road just as the ambulance pulls through the main gates.

We’re miles down the highway when Evie speaks. “The smell will give it away. The cleaning supplies. And footprints. They’ll know Jameson didn’t kill him.”

I hate the hollowness in her tone, knowing it’s reflected in the depths of her eyes, shielded beneath the helmet. Maybe I should’ve killed the fucker for her. Or, better yet, insisted she leave the moment we found them.

“We have connections with the hospitals,” I say instead. “It helps when we need to get rid of a body. Or two.”

“And the cops?” she asks, her shoulders slumping. Seeing that small show of vulnerability has me wanting to scream.

“Father Michael was involved in this.” I do my best to keep my voice even, trying not to startle my little fox, but it sounds like a growl anyway. “Noctis found plenty of evidence condemning many members of the church. It was easy once he knew where to look. Turns out a lot of them are tied to local police. Being that Noctis has already sent evidence to the FBI and the entire precinct is under investigation, I don’t think they’ll be bothering us anytime soon.”