Chapter Two
SEBASTIAN
Blood streams from the corner of Ian’s mouth as his head falls forwards in defeat, but a gargled scream rips free when Easton twists the knife embedded in his thigh even more.
“What the fuck do you mean,Deveigne?” Easton asks, and I’m glad one of us is with it because I feel fucking frozen in place.
Deveigne?The same Deveigne whose throat I had crushed in my hand only adayago? I could have killed him, but I let him go.I fucking let him go. My blood burns, and the shock freezing my limbs melts into a fierce rage. I find myself grasping the knife handle sticking out of Ian’s leg. Blood sprays across my already stained white shirt as I yank the blade from the bastard who killed my parents. A weak cry falls from his busted lips, and it only intensifies when I wrench his head back by a fistful of his hair with my free hand.
“What does Deveigne have to do with this?” I ask, and the quiet calm of my voice surprises me. Ian starts to shake his head, but he quickly stops the motion when I press the sharp metal, already warmed with his blood, right against his jugular.
“It was him,” he rasps out. “Alexander Deveigne, he’s the one w-who made me do it!”
“Why?” I ask. How the hell does Deveigne fit into any of this?
“I don’t… I don’t k-know.”
“Bullshit,” Easton spits and Ian flinches, which only pushes the knife into his throat, allowing a trickle of blood to escape.
“I s-swear!” he cries out. “I don’t know anything else.”
I stare into the eyes of the man who murdered my parents, and I can’t begin to understand how this lowlife could take them from me in a matter of minutes.
Colton had tried to save her. The evidence had shown how he’d used his body to shield Elena, and even after multiple shots, there’d been signs of a struggle with thekiller, but it wasn’t enough. He’d been crawling back to her when the last bullet had struck the back of his skull. They’d died a mere metre away from each other, bleeding out on the asphalt. The wash of pain that overcomes me squeezes my heart to the point it struggles to beat under the pressure, and I close my eyes. But when I’m met with the images from that night—images forever burned into my mind—I quickly reopen them.
Tears track down Ian’s face, mixing with blood, sweat, and snot. His left eye is nearly wholly swollen shut. It’s still only a fraction of what he deserves, but all I feel is exhaustion. The fire inside me starts to fizzle out too quickly as memories of seeing them lying dead in the street plague me. This is supposed to be easing the crushing pain the thought of them gives me.I have him.He killed them, and he’s paying for it. Except I’m left with nothing but a sick feeling in my stomach.
Easton grasps my elbow, his fingers biting into my flesh through my shirt. I hadn’t even realised my arm had started to shake. His subtle squeeze lets me know he won’t let me fall apart. Not when I’m faced with the man we’ve been searching for all these months. Although it’s not just him I want. I knew he had to be working for someone else. It was the only thing that made sense but hearing it confirmed was still like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. Except the feeling of not being able to breathe properly still hasn’t subsided.
I try to focus on the hold Easton has on my arm to stop myself from falling back into the memories of the night I lost them. They were already gone when I got the call. Despite that, the feeling of being too late plagued me—of not being there for them. It was their anniversary, there was no reason for me to be out with them that night, but it didn’t stop the guilt. I lost them the same night they saved me, only twenty-five years later.
Easton squeezes me again as he continues to throw questions at Ian. This time, I manage to shake the thoughts enough to concentrate on the person before me.
Ian doesn’t appear to have noticed anything beyond the knife threatening to end his life at any second. Gone is the guy who told me to fuck off, spitting his blood at my feet. Now, the guy sitting in front of me is nothing but a broken fucking mess.
“If you have nothing else to say, then we have no use for you,” I say, finding my voice, adding pressure to the knife at his throat.
“No…” He looks up at me, desperation bleeding from his one open eye. “Wait!” Ian says, his eye widening. “There… there was someone else.”
“What the fuck do you mean there was someone else? Who?” Easton asks, his hold on me tightening.
How many fucking people were involved in this?
“I don’t know—” his words break off as a scream rips from his throat when Easton digs his thumb into the stab wound in his thigh. With his other hand still gripping my arm, the movement causes the knife to dig further into Ian’s throat. A fresh stream of blood runs down his neck, though it’s not enough to do much damage.
“Give us a fucking name,” Easton says.
“I swear! I swear I don’t know,” Ian says, desperation coating his voice as tears track down his bloodied cheeks. “I-I only spoke with them on the phone. They t-told me w-where they’d be. Please, that’s all I know.”
His words hit me hard in the chest.
“Man or woman?” Easton asks, and my gaze snaps to him. It’s a valid question. Probably a fucking important one, but I know exactly where his mind is going.It wasn’t her.
“Wha—” Ian starts.
“The person on the fucking phone, were they a man or a woman?” Easton growls.
“I don’t… I…” Ian cries out when Easton presses harder into his wound. “Man! It was a man. I promise that’s all I know.” His eye closes as his shoulders shake with involuntary sobs, and a broken whimper falls from his mouth when Easton yanks his thumb out of the wound in his leg.