REJOIN | ✔️

Chapter Twenty-Five

Everything stopped moving, like time actually froze as the terror trickled its way down my spine.

I don't remember standing but suddenly I was on my feet, tucked behind Remy as he adopted a protective stance.

"Did you miss me?" Chris sneered. The gun he'd beaten away from Clara sat loosely in his hand, not yet pointed at anyone but a threat enough.

"Not in the slightest," Remy growled.

I couldn't even breathe to speak.

"Awfully melancholy for someone that should be dead right now. Where's your joie de vivre?" Chris' voice was edged with laughter and I bristled. "Get it? Because you're French. Joie de vivre?"

No one responded.

"Wow, tough crowd."

"Why did you come back?" I had to clear my throat and try again, the words coming out choked. "Why did you come back?" My voice broke on the last word. "You could have left the country — left and gotten away with it. Why did you come back?"

Chris' beautiful face lit up as he laughed, his eyes flashing with menace.

Was ever book containing such vile matter, So fairly bound?

"Do you think they don't have my picture everywhere? I killed a white guy — although apparently they pinned your murder on me too, naughty little Clarissa — so really, I killed two white folk; it's international news.

"I tried to get surgery, but they turned me away saying only criminals want that much work done. And to be fair, I look like this, why would I want to look like anyone else?"

He all but pulled out a pocket mirror to put product in his hair — what did he want, a freaking medal? Go enter a pageant, princess.

After all the pleasant days I'd spent away from this monster, I'd almost forgotten the way his jovial mood could turn sour within the matter of seconds, but he spared no time in reminding me.

"Did you know that you ruined my fucking life?" Chris yelled, his voice breaking, spittle spraying with the emphasis of his words. His accompanying laugh was borderline hysterical, his free hand shaking as it raked through his hair. His other hand shook too, even with the gun held close to his side.

It looked as though he'd attempted to stitch his dominant right hand with his left, without much success. The stitches had given way to a deep gash. His fingers twitched as blood trickled onto the concrete of the pathway beneath us.

"We ruined your life?" I couldn't stop myself from biting back — if anyone asked what my biggest weakness was, at least now I'd be able to answer them instead of umming and ahhing over it. "You ruined our lives, Chris. You literally killed someone in front of me and my sister. Do you have any idea what that does to a person?"

He didn't even seem to hear my answer. He edged towards us and Remy shuffled us back a few steps. "Stay away from us," Remy warned.

"Ooh," Chris squealed. He mockingly put both his hands on either side of his face, not even seeming to notice the gun still hooked on his index finger. A trail of blood stained his right cheek as he pulled away. "Aren't we talkative this afternoon?"

Remy practically growled. I reached forward and grabbed his shoulder, his muscles tensed and twitching from the effort it took not to launch himself forward. "I'm not tied up this time," he said in a low, warning voice.

Chris just laughed. He really laughed. He threw his head back and bellowed his laugh at the sky, attracting the attention of passers-by. They gasped and starting whispering, instantly recognising him. "I shot you once, big guy. Don't think I won't do it again."