My hands are shaking. I look at them and expect blood. Earlier tonight, I took a life. Shot a man three times, watched him sinkinto the bay. Didn’t even try to save him.
I’m a killer. A murderer. I broke my oath, became something I swore I’d never be. I did harm—intentionally.
I can’t have Yulian kill Brad for me, too.
His blood would be on my hands. Regardless of who pulled the trigger, I’d know I was responsible. And Brad isn’t Desya. Heisn’t a rampaging psychopath with a chip on his shoulder and countless bodies on his nonexistent conscience. He’s a garden-variety abuser, an asshole and a liar, yes, a bad man, but he never killed anyone. Granted, the bar’s never been lower, but it’sstill something.
Bradley Baldwin may be the worst piece of s**t who’s ever lived. He may have made my
