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“It was my fault.” The words that leave my mouth are foreign. My stomach rolls and my chest contracts as an ugly guilt settles inside of me. Like rot, it’s going to spread.
“No, it wasn’t,” Brantley says, his fingers intertwining with mine from behind. For once, he doesn’t force me out of Bishop’s arms. Instead, he presses his lips to the back of my head. “It wasn’t your fault.”
I swipe the tears from my cheeks, turning and burying my face into Brantley’s arm. “Fix this.”
He directs my face up with a gentle tug of his finger, his eyes searching mine with a force I have never experienced before. In this moment, he is like a magnet, calling me. “I don’t know how to fix this, but I promise you that I will make things right.” The corners of his eyes soften, his mouth in a hard line. I see the fight he’s struggling with. To mourn his little cousin, one of the only people who has held him accountable, or to not allow that barrier to lower.
I bring my hand up to his cheek. Skin so soft, yet cheekbones so prominent. “You don’t have to hide anything, Brantley. We know you cared for her.”
The muscles beneath my palm tense. “I did.”
“Veronica dies tonight,” Madison says, breaking through the tense and somber atmosphere.
I look toward her as Brantley pulls me into his chest. Madison nods, swiping away her tears. “Bailey deserved better. Tonight, that bitch dies. I’m sick of her games.”
I nod in agreement. I don’t wish death upon anyone, but it’s hard to be against revenge. I know it’s not healthy. I know I will most likely live with both of their deaths for the rest of my days. I squeeze my eyes closed. “She deserved better.”
Brantley’s arm tenses around me before he falls down onto the stool I was on, pulling me onto his lap. He nudges his head up at Spyder. “Get those two fucking rabbits out of their room so we can start this hell raising.”