Lucky
When I slipped out of my apartment in the middle of the night, leaving Hope sleeping in my bed, it was because of the phone call I'd received from G.
He had another job for me, and I had some choice fucking words for him in return.
However, when I was heading to my truck and noticed the same black Camaro that followed Hope wherever she was, parked outside my building, I felt my temper reign in.
Gonzalez was keeping up his side of the deal –protection – so I had no problem keeping up my end.
But once I was done, once I had my business affairs squared off, it was time to get shit done on a personal level.
I found him on the fourth floor, room 38.
Looking through the small rectangular panel of glass, I stared at the man who had caused Hope so much pain.
He was alone.
Slipping past the sleeping nurse outside his door, I walked inside the room, and quietly closed the door behind me before walking over to the empty chair at his bedside.
Settling down in the chair, I placed my hands on the armrests and watched him sleep.
He wanted to die.
I could make it quick.
No one would know.
I was very creative.
So why wasn’t I moving?
He didn’t deserve mercy.
An eye for an eye.
Rape my woman, and I take your life; it was simple math.
Hitting her.
Blackmailing her.
Forcing her.
I waited for the instinct to rise up inside of me; the one that came right before a kill.
But it didn’t come.
Instead of fury, I felt pity.
I didn’t want to feel it, because he didn’t fucking deserve it.
He opened his eyes then, and turned to face me. "What are you waiting for?"
"I don’t know," I replied honestly.
"I deserve it," he whispered.
I nodded. "Yeah, you do."
"Is…" He closed his eyes and I watched a lone tear roll down his cheek. "Is she okay?"
"She was raped by a monster she trusted. How the fuck would she be okay?"
He flinched at my words.
Good, he fucking deserved them.
"I didn’t know what I was doing that night," he choked out. "I was drunk and high and completely fucked in the head."
"I don’t care."
"I don’t even remember," he whispered.
"I don’t care."
"I never wanted to hurt her."
"I came here to kill you."
"I know," he whispered. "I've been waiting for you…hoping you'd come."
"I've been going through it in my mind for months now," I explained calmly, though how I was calm right now was beyond me. "All the different ways I could do it. The countless ways I could end your life." Shifting, I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my thighs. "But I realized something tonight." I studied his gaunt face and shook my head. "There's nothing to end, is there?"
"You should just do it," he croaked out.
"For the past thirteen years, I've never hesitated." I looked him dead in the eye. "I've never cared."
"You don’t care about me," he bit out.
"No. I don’t. But I love her," I told him. "I care about her. And she cares about you."
He flinched again. "She shouldn’t."
"But she does," I confirmed. "So, for her sake, you better be worth sparing."
"I'm not worth it," he whispered. "I'm nothing."
"I agree," I told him, keeping my eyes trained on his. "But she doesn’t. So maybe she's right. Maybe there's something worth saving in there," I added. "Not with Hope. That's been dead in the water before I even met her. But with someone else. Or somewhere else." Shrugging, I leaned back in the chair and sighed. "Then again, maybe I'm right, and you really are a worthless piece of shit that deserves nothing less than to suffer for the rest of your junkie, rapist life."
"I don’t want your advice," he strangled out. "I want you to put me out of my goddamn misery."
"I'm not going to do that for you," I replied, realizing that I had made my decision. "I'm not giving you the easy way out."
"Are you afraid?" he goaded, desperate.
"I want you to know something." Standing slowly, I kept my eyes on his. "I want you to know that even though you've hurt that woman beyond redemption in my eyes, she still tried to protect you. You've got a father and a mother frantic with concern, because they love you." Shaking my head, I added, "You've got more than most. Remember that."
And then I turned around and walked away.
"Can you tell her something for me?" he called out hoarsely. "Can you tell her it's not mine?"
Frozen in the doorway, I looked back at him. "What's not yours?"
"I had a successful vasectomy last year," he croaked out hoarsely. "The baby has to be yours."
Completely fucking reeling, I closed the door again, and walked back to his bed. "She's pregnant?" I hissed, glaring down at him.
"It's not mine," he stated, drawing me back from the brink of a personal fucking meltdown. "I had a vasect–"
"You already said that," I snarled, needing him to shut the fuck up for a minute so I could figure this out.
Hope was pregnant?
She was having a baby?
And this prick knew about it?
Running a hand through my hair, I looked down at him and asked, "Why?"
He frowned. "Why?"
The elation inside growing inside of me at the thought of Hope being pregnant was threatened by the chance of this fucker lying to me.
"The vasectomy," I bit out, gaging his face for the hint of a lie. "Why'd you get it done?"
"Look at me," he shot back flatly. "Do you think I want to be responsible for bringing a child into the world when it would have a father like me?" He released a ragged breath, then added, "I got it done when I woke up after yet another slip up, and realized that I had no idea what I was doing when I was high."
"Thought you were clean longer than eighteen months," I shot back, unyielding. "Or are you just lying through your goddamn teeth again?"
"Heroin," he whispered, flinching. "I was clean from Heroin for six years –" Pausing, he exhaled shakily. "But alcohol? I never seem to get beyond the six-month mark before falling back off again… and when I'm wasted and desperate? I'm not in control." He shook his head. "All I want is H and booze, and believe me when I tell you that there is no level I haven't stooped to in order to get them – which is exactly why I had to get it done."
Well shit…
If he was lying to me, he could forget about mercy.
And fuck turning the other cheek.
If he was lying to me, I was going to gut the bastard like a fish.
"I'm not lying," he stated flatly, obviously reading my thoughts. "I'm sterile. The kid's yours. Congratu-fucking-lations."