Kylie Bray (Love, Hate and Billions) novel Chapter 52

The last time I saw her I turned my back on her, I wanted her to go, to leave me, with the memory of me doing it. I didn't want her to think too much about me.

As far as horrible best friends go I was much worse in the last years of our time together, fawning over Vincent.

It didn't get me anywhere.

Look at me now.

The black and blue gates make way, and something akin to caution fills me.

Squinting my eyes as they flutter open to a bright light coming from the roof of the house. My head turns to Vincent, his small smile still plastered on his face.

It brings up memories of our night together. My body is telling me I need to feel something and my mind is saying he is the only one who can give me what I want.

We step out of the car as the Mansion doors open, revealing a teenage boy. His shaggy hair looks like he was lying in bed. Dressed in a pair of beach shorts and a polo vest, barefoot, he stands in waiting. So innocent. I think to myself, he is lucky.

I slam my door as Vincent walks up the stairs. Lifting my head to look at the young boy again, and Vincent.

Still not having a clue as to what is this big surprise. My feet walk around the car, toward the first step just as Vincent reaches the boy. He grabs the boy into a hug.

Maybe this is his family home.

Growing up I have never seen Vincent's family house, I heard it was big. Like my own parents, his mother and father came from old money. I won't be surprised if this young boy is his cousin.

My eyes track the top of the stairs where they are still standing, wrapped in a tight hug. The boy's eyes widen and it is only then I hear the distinct shots.

Pop, pop.

I run up the stairs, taking it two at a time.

My gaze widens in horror as the boy drops to the floor,

“Vincent, what have you done!” Yelling at him, at the man who I supposedly loved not too long ago, as my knees hit the hard surface, barely stinging.

A double sword reminder and repercussions of my time in hell.

The boy's light green eyes open, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

He gurgles as I apply pressure on the wound. It's too late. I already know he isn't going to make it.

People say everything comes in stages, including healing, for me as I watch this boy dying, I feel a tinge of pain.

A bit more of the wrongness in this ordeal.

And it isn't the first time my mind screams that I should stop this, but how.