As we’re guided down the hallway by Hernandez, Liam tells me not to look into the living room. But I stop. And I look at the end of the Donnellys.

It’s not pretty.

Alexis shot Maddoc in the chest. He’s propped against a wall, eyes glassy with death, blood pooled on the tile beneath him. On his lap, loosely clutched in lifeless fingers, is a gun. And lying several feet away is his last victim, dead from a gunshot wound to the throat.

One of Chris’s hands is extended toward Maddoc, like he was trying to help his boss or seek forgiveness. His eyes are closed, his face relaxed and surprisingly peaceful.

I hope that wherever he’s gone, he finds absolution for his sins. But I’m also grimly satisfied at the prospect of him burning in hell for eternity.

Another man lies beyond Chris. From the angle of his body and the gunshot to the head, I surmise that Maddoc fired his gun twice, missing Chris the first time and killing the other man.

The final three men are gone, having been shackled and hauled to the police van parked outside. Hernandez told us two of them were ID’d as shooters from the hospital. The third is the one with his brains leaking onto the floor.

I should be relieved I didn’t kill that man in the hallway, but I’m not.

I stare at Alexis the longest. Unlike Chris, her face is locked in a rictus of her last moment’s emotion. Rage and defiance. I imagine there was satisfaction in her, too, at the end. She exercised the ultimate power of the individual—the choice to live or die.

In her death, at least, we finally have something in common. I made the same choice in a basement not long ago. I’d been ready to die.

I don’t feel anything but apathy. Not yet, anyway. Not even when Elizabeth’s cold fingers grip my own and she begins weeping softly over the death of her daughter. Perhaps out of guilt for not taking her instead, or not taking us both, or both of our failures to save her…

“Eden,” murmurs Liam.

I turn away, my fingers slipping from Elizabeth’s. Someone dressed Liam’s wound with gauze and tape.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” I ask mutedly.

He shakes his head and offers me his hand. I stare at it long enough that I finally feel something. An unpleasant something. Like a swarm of bees has taken residence beneath my skin.

“You lied to me. All this time, you’ve been working with Agent Hernandez. You didn’t trust me.”

His eyes remain beseeching, but his hand falls. “Let’s get out of here, love. I’ll explain everything to you later.”

“No. Explain it to me now.”

His gaze flickers to where Agent Hernandez stands near the front door and back to me. “I was trying to uphold your wishes that no one die unnecessarily. Eden, there was no way on this earth that Maddoc or Alexis would have let us go. You have to know that.”

I take a step toward him, feeling Elizabeth’s focus behind me. “You didn’t look surprised this morning. Did you know they were coming for us? Is that why you insisted I wear pajamas to bed?”

Liam flinches, either at the look in my eyes or my tone of voice. “Yes,” he admits softly. “My contact—the same one Alexis made—was the undercover police. I received a text when she left here this morning. You were still asleep.”

A deep tremor runs through my body, leaving a poisonous fissure in its wake. I take two more steps until I’m right before him.

“You set me up,” I whisper. “You couldn’t help it, could you? The need for secrets. To create the game and control the players. It’s who you are.”

Hernandez turns toward us. “Coroner’s on his way,” he says, not unkindly. “Time to get going.”

We both ignore him.

“Eden,” Liam says calmly. So fucking calmly. “We can talk about this later. I did what I had to do to keep you safe. You said you trusted me with our lives. Did I fail you? Are we not alive?”

“You used me. How did you know I’d find you? Be able to get your phone? What if that guard had overpowered me?”

He shakes his head. “He didn’t, and he wouldn’t have. I heard every blow. You were perfect.”

I shake my head; the movement feels like slow-motion. Like I’m underwater. Suffocating.

“That’s what you meant by ‘Clover,’” I say, more to myself than him. “I thought you were telling me that I had power. But you were telling me that you did. No matter how much I want to be your equal, you’ll never allow it. I will always be your dove, your submissive to control.”

I see his moment of comprehension—the moment he realizes he’s lost me. The blood drains from his face, and his eyes take on a vivid, grief-stricken hue.

“Eden, please,” he whispers.

The chaos inside me detonates, but I’m too numb, too far gone to scream. Instead, I grow calm and still. Utterly contained.

I become him.

“Goodbye, Liam.”

I glance a question at Elizabeth, who nods, then I walk past him, past Agent Hernandez, and into the brilliant light of day. Squinting, I walk toward the closest uniformed man.

“Any chance my mother and I can get a ride home?”

He looks over my head—at Hernandez, no doubt—then nods and waves a hand. “This way.”

The drive back to the bungalow is brief. I thank the officer and lead Elizabeth inside. She helps me pack my duffel before I remember I have nowhere to go, no money, and the bank doesn’t open until tomorrow.

I sit listlessly on the bed Liam and I slept in. Made love in. Misery rushes toward me, a tornado I’m in no way, shape, or form prepared for.

Then Elizabeth turns from the dresser. “How does room service sound?” she asks, holding up a banded roll of hundred-dollar bills.

The tornado passes by without touching down.

Elizabeth tosses me the roll. I stand up, tuck the money in the front pocket of my jeans, and grab my duffel from the floor.

With a final look around at my happily-never-after, I head for the door. “Room service sounds fantastic.”