“What do you want from me?” he demands. “I’m not leaving the Widows for you. That’s not an option.”
“Fuck, Nic. Did I say that I wanted you to leave the Widows? When, over the last six months have I ever given you the impression that I wanted more from you than just friendship? I don’t want to be with you. I don’t give a shit that you’re the leader of the fucking Widows because it doesn’t affect my life. It has nothing to do with who I am or where I want to go. And for the record, why would I want to be with someone who wouldn't even consider leaving that life for me? The Widows are your priority, not me, and that says it all.”
I walk around the side of his bed and tear open his bedside drawer before dropping the ring into it and slamming it closed harder than it's ever been slammed in its life, only as the little table rocks from the force something detaches from the back and I hear the familiar sound of a blade clattering against the cheap wooden floorboards.
My brows furrow as Nic goes impossibly still.
What the fuck was that?
Anger courses through my body and I practically throw his bedside table out of the way and what stares back at me has my stomach sinking with dread.
An old dagger with intricate carvings, the exact same one that not eight months ago was protruding from my father’s chest, only to then be stabbed through the back of Charles Carrington, ending both of their lives.
I suck in a sharp gasp, my body instantly shaking with fear as I find it impossible to look away from the blade that has wreaked so much havoc in my life.
Nic takes a step and I instantly back up.
“Ocean,” he says, his voice low with a warning, coaxing me not to run. “Let me explain.”
I look up at him, meeting the guilty expression on his face. “What the fuck is that?” I demand, my voice shaking as I feel a kind of terror that I've never experienced before. “Why do you have that knife?”
He clenches his jaw and swallows hard, looking as though he’s working extra fucking hard to figure out what the hell he’s about to say to me.
“FUCKING ANSWER ME, DOMINIC. WHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE THAT?”
Nic raises both his hands, similar to the way Colton had done on Sunday night, only there’s something so much different here, something darker. I trusted that Colton wouldn’t hurt me, trusted that he was only showing me that he wanted to explain himself, but the way Nic looks at me with his hands raised is more like he’s trying to convince himself of the same damn thing.
I back up another step, putting myself closer to the door and further away from Nic. “Ocean,” he starts. “Just listen to me. I had no choice …”
“No choice? Had no choice about what? How did you get that knife? It was locked in Colton’s safe.”
Nic clenches his jaw again. “You have to understand. I couldn’t let him have it.”
Tears begin to well in my eyes. “You did it, didn’t you? You killed my father and then came to me, standing in my fucking home and holding me while I sobbed, vowing that you’d find whoever did it.”
Nic doesn’t respond, just stares at me with that same guilt building in his eyes.
The tears fall as I stand in his bedroom doorway, feeling as though I'm staring at a complete stranger. My hands shake and my chest rises with short rapid breaths, struggling to feel anything. Numbness shoots through me to the point of pain and I want nothing more than to run out the fucking door and never look back but I know that if I don’t stay and find the answers I need, I’ll never get them. “Answer me, Nic. Tell me it wasn’t you,” I cry. “Tell me that you didn’t come into my home and stab my father through the chest and then leave him there to die.”
His jaw clenches and then finally he dips his head. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he murmurs, his voice filled with self-hate and guilt. “You have to believe me that I didn't want to do it. I had no choice. It was either me or Kian and I know my father would have made him suffer. He would have taken pleasure in killing your father.”
I shake my head. “No. Kian promised me that the Black Widows had nothing to do with killing my dad. He … he told me—”
“He lied.”
“No … I.”
Nic drops down to the edge of his bed and looks up at me with eyes so filled with pain and regret. “It was just after your father had officially sold you to Carrington. Even though your father thought the transaction was done, Carrington wasn’t. He paid my father to take Lou’s life. Dad was testing me, seeing if I had it in me to get the job done. I had to. It was either him or me so I did it.”