Chapter 142

• I can barely hear anything over the ringing in my ears. Richard’s blood is on my knuckles, drying in dark streaks across my skin. My chest heaves with every breath, the sharp taste of iron in the back of my throat. The room around us is a ruin—furniture splintered, glass shattered, blood smeared on the walls like some grotesque mural.
• Elizabeth is screaming my name, her voice hoarse with fear, but I can’t take my eyes off Richard. He’s slumped against the wall, beaten half to death, but still smirking. That fucking smirk. It’s like he’s won somehow, even though he’s the one spitting blood.
• “Go on,” he rasps, his teeth red. “Finish it.”