Page 122 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

And I tried to scream.

I howled behind the tape covering my mouth, tears blurring everything as my struggle turned to despair. Sirens blared in my brain, echoing in my ears, as all I felt was total and utter anguish. The excruciating agony in my heart, radiated through my whole body, overriding any of the pains I’d felt before in my wrists and ankles.

The gun had gone off.

Nobody was moving.

They were both dead.

CHAPTER

FIFTY

ALEX

The sound of the gunshot echoed in my ears, piercing my eardrums like the stab of a knife.

It was all I could hear.

It was deafening.

It was excruciating.

I could feel my life draining away, the anger and tension from fighting so viciously ebbing as we lay on the ground.

There were no more flying fists, no energy to fight, no movement at all.

Just stillness.

I felt wetness pooling against my chest, and I tried to breath, I tried to gasp, but I couldn’t.

I was frozen.

Holding my brother in my arms...

for the very last time.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-ONE

EMMA

It felt like forever that I sat still and stared at them, dumbfounded, shocked, numb with fear and insurmountable grief until, one of them moved, rolling onto his back, groaning.

I held my breath as he ran his hands over his face and then he sat up. Tears streamed down my already damp cheeks when I saw the face of the man I loved.

That’s right, I loved him.

My Alex.

Not Arran’s, but mine.

I could see blood on his white shirt, and I gave a muffled cry, but he didn’t hear me. He was in a haunted daze, stunned and staring down at Arran, who lay there with crimson billowing from his chest where the gunshot had hit.

Alex reached forward and touched his brother’s cheek, a caress as if to say goodbye. Then he hung his head and brushed his hand over his brother’s face to force his eyelids closed.

He leaned down to whisper something to him, then sat back, and throwing his head back he let out a scream, howling to the night sky in pain.