Kylie Bray (Love, Hate and Billions)

Chapter 62 (Kylie)

Two Months Later

“Stop this Vincent please.”

I stand in the blood of the dead, begging the man that I love to not avenge me.

He is silent as he stares at me and for a second, just a second I think that he is going to stop.

I am a fool to think that.

He strolls up to me, never , not once dropping his eyes from mine.

He stops just a breath a way.

I swallow hard, a deep frown marring my skin.

He lifts his hand to my long hair twirling his finger around a few strands.

I don’t have to look to know that is what he is doing because he has done it so many times these past

few months.

A few years ago just that mere touch would’ve had me melting but as I stand here today in the blood of

my enemy by the hands of my first love, I admit that I am ashamed.

I am ashamed and embarrassed to love this man, who insists he kills these people in my name, who

finds death and blood shed an art.

I, Marcus Bray's daughter am ashamed.

“Where's the fun in that?” his voices it so soft , “told you sweet girl you are my muse.”

His words once served as a caress to my skin when he whispered them into my ear.

I was blinded by the idea that he could love me. I held out hope that I would free his soul.

But Vincent doesn’t need freeing, his plight for Vengeance in my name is too great , too live in his mind

to let anyone save him.

I know that now. But knowing and doing the right thing about it is a whole new ball game.

“Why won’t you stop, please, I can’t.”

He grips the few strands, he was seconds ago twirling and tugs it hard, getting up in my face until our

noses are touching.

“This is what I do Kylie, this is who I am, I am a fucking killer.”

He pushes me back slightly and I barely catch myself as I watch him looking up to the ceiling.

He seems to have a clear thought in all his madness,

“Let's go, before the cops come.”

There is so much I want to say, so many things I want to know.

The most important one though is how much blood will Vincent bathe in before he spills Lucca's.

Instead, I just say the one thing that I can, the one emotion I want to feel more even if it's a lie, This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

“I hate you.”

He looks at me when I say those three words and the evil I see in his eyes will forever paint my dreams

in his gaze,

“Yes, but you love me more.”

He spins around and walks to the door not once stopping to see the mass of bodies he had laid waste

to the floor.

“Let’s go sweet girl.”

I swallow the lump that’s bubbling in my throat to scream at him and straighten my back following my

devil.

I once said that he was a made man and I was his muse. As I walk out of this dusty old bar I can

honestly say that Vincent Stone is the devil and I am his possession.

Once we are in the car he speeds off, we're both silents.

He is probably plotting his next attack, while I’m thinking of how the fuck do I get out of this.

I have already been warned away. When Marco found out about Roberto at the dock and the human

trafficking, he told me to run, but even if want to leave I know Vincent will come after me.

I am his, even if he won’t love me.

He stops outside my two-story Victorian house.

Since my release from the hospital, we have now settled back into my home, which suited me fine.

The car is silent when he switches it off and jumps out.

I take in a deep breath, turning my head to look at his dark charcoal suit pants.

Putting my hand on the handle I jump out.

I walk around the silver Porsche and my house door opens from the inside.

I instinctively let out a small scream and duck down. Old habits never die, especially the ones born by

fear.

“Kylie.” Relief instantly floods me and even a sense of happiness shares a compartment in my turmoil

hearing my name from that familiar voice.

I tumble as I go running to my door and into the arms of my hero, of the one person who is always

there when I need him.

“Papa,” I say it as a plea, I say it as an answer, a question and he understands me.

Papa wraps me in his big arms and engulfs me, closing me from the world, protecting me from even

myself, healing me with just his touch and love.

It always suffocates me but it keeps me breathing more.

Papa doesn't let me go, and I crawl upon him and he lets me, picking me up, carrying me like one

would a lost child, and that is what I am now.

I am lost.

But papa doesn't need to know that, when his kiss on my head says it all, without words, he got me.

“I am taking my daughter home, she has had enough, if you want to see her, you know where I stay.” I

heard papa tell Vincent.

“When are you bringing her back, she belongs to me now.” Vincent's menacing voice states.

“I won't be bringing her back, my daughter will come back on her own.” My father says it as a warning

and I am confused, but too heart sore to do anything but hold on tight to papa.

Everybody hits rock bottom, everyone falls a time or two. For me, on that day I had reached my

breaking point and like always my papa was there. Because that day I was too weak to stand on my

own, that day I was too weighed down. And somehow the other half of me sensed that, so I needed to

regroup. So I could crawl out of yet another hell.