AN: So, Game Changer is on hold at the moment. I am obsessed with finishing this. Although, it's the same story as Chop and Change, Edward's POV feels different and I kind of want to see how he reacts to situations. So, we're pushing forward until the end.
++All mistakes are mine.
SM owns Twilight.
Chapter Twenty-One
Every day was the same fucking grind. Different stretch of nowhere, same edge-of-shit existence. This time, the outskirts of Iowa, clinging to the ass end of Wisconsin. The motel was the kind of dive that stank of piss and don't-ask-don't-tell. Stained carpet, flickering neon buzz, a parking lot littered with busted cars and broken lives. Could I afford better? Fuck yeah. A lot better. But better came with cameras, questions, and people who gave too much of a shit. Places like this? No cameras. No IDs. No fucking small talk. Just a key and a silent agreement to keep your goddamn mouth shut.
The desk lady didn't even look up at first. Flipping through a magazine like she'd rather be dead. Then I saw it—the fucking cover. My face. Ten grand now, printed bold like it wasn't enough to put every backstabbing bastard with a grudge on my trail. Her eyes flicked up to mine, and for a split second, I thought it was over. Done. But then she smirked, that sly, fuck-you kind of grin, and tossed the magazine aside like it was trash.
"Politicians think they own the fucking world," she said, sliding me the key. "Fuck them."
I didn't answer. Didn't trust myself to. Just nodded like it didn't matter, even though every muscle in me was tight as hell. Ten thousand bucks. Some people would sell their soul for half that, but not her. Either she didn't give a shit about the money, or she hated my father enough to make it personal. I didn't care which. I wasn't about to push my luck.
The Chevelle was parked under a busted streetlight, blending into the scenery like it belonged there. Dented, dirty, caked in mud from a thousand backroads. The news hadn't tagged it yet, and thank Christ for that. It provided a safety while we traveled. The moment they figure out our ride, it'd be front-page fodder, plastered next to my father's bullshit and my own personal fuckery. My face. Bella's face. The car. Every goddamn piece of us dissected for the world to chew on.
I don't know what we would do without Tanya.
And on top of everything else I was fucking stressing over? Caius had gone fucking silent. Not a call. Not a text. Nothing. The guy who used to breathe down my neck like a psycho, the one who kept Emmett and Jasper living on edge? Just gone. And that wasn't fucking relief—it was a problem. Caius didn't let shit slide. Ever.
Every hour Emmett or Jasper didn't hear from him, my gut twisted tighter. I'd stopped eating days ago—not out of choice, but because my stomach wasn't playing ball. Every bite felt like swallowing glass. Heartburn. Nausea. The works. I was wrecked. But what else was new?
I was keeping tabs anyway. On him. On Marcus. On their entire goddamn operation. Not that it made a difference. Tracking them wasn't a plan. It was desperation. Chasing shadows, praying for a whisper, knowing it wouldn't change shit. These weren't petty thugs. They were cartel, ruthless bastards who thrived on chaos. The kind of chaos I'd stupidly invited into our lives. They didn't forgive. Didn't forget. And their silence wasn't a reprieve—it was a countdown.
I could feel it building. Didn't know when, didn't know how, but I knew the storm was coming. And when it hit? It'd blow everything to hell.
Lying to Bella was the worst fucking part. She wasn't an idiot—never had been. She clocked everything: the tightness in my jaw, the way my hands couldn't stay still, how my eyes darted to the burner every time it buzzed like it held the cure to this dumpster fire we were in. She didn't ask outright—too smart for that—but her questions were sharp, like knives carving at the truth. Like she wanted me to fucking hand it to her.
But how the hell was I supposed to tell her? Hey, babe, remember those cartel assholes I pissed off? Yeah, they might show up and paint the walls with our brains. Cool, right? Fuck no. So I swallowed it. Let it chew me up from the inside, because there was no way in hell I was letting her carry that shit, too.
What was today?
Fuck me. I didn't fucking know. Somewhere between Missouri and this shitty place, I'd lost track. Jesus Christ, it didn't matter. Just another fucking sunrise to sunset hell that I couldn't get out of. But my father? Oh, that bastard was on day four of his press tour.
"Babe," Bella said, placing her hand on my tense back. "Just shut it off."
The TV was blaring in the corner, the same recycled vomit about the Senator. My father's smug, polished mug filled the screen, and it made my blood fucking boil. That prick thought he was untouchable, like money and power made him bulletproof. Bella was watching me from the bed, her gaze heavy, but I couldn't meet it. Not with him on the screen. Not with his lies seeping through every goddamn pixel like poison.
"You piece of shit," I muttered, my fists so tight my knuckles cracked. My father was calm, calculated, and fake as fuck. My body couldn't stay still, pacing the shitty motel floor, the wood creaking like it was ready to give. Every nerve in me was coiled so tight, I felt like I might snap and take the whole fucking room with me.
I wasn't just pissed—I was caged. Cornered in his game, dragged into his spotlight like a goddamn sideshow for the vultures to pick apart. My face. Bella's name. Every fucking headline. Every whisper. He'd made sure there was no escape, not for me, not for her, not for anyone.
That tension had built and built until it exploded inside me and I lost it.
My fist flew towards the TV, but at the last second, shifted towards the wall, punching straight through the plaster. The crack was loud as hell, echoing in the room like a gunshot. Pain exploded up my arm, sharp and burning, but I didn't give a shit. Fuck the wall. Fuck my hand. Fuck everything.
"FUCK!" I roared, shaking out my busted knuckles as dust and broken plaster rained down. Blood smeared across my skin, dripping onto the floor, but I didn't even look. It wasn't enough—not the pain, not the blood, not the gaping hole in the wall.
"Edward!" Bella yelled through the haze, sharp and panicked. She was off the bed in a flash, rushing toward me like she could fix this shit. Like she could fix me. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
I couldn't answer, could barely breathe. My chest was heaving, my heart pounding like a fucking drum. "Just… back off," I growled, leaning forward, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.
"Your hand is bleeding," she snapped, her tone softer but still edged. "Let me see."
"I said I'm fine," I barked, jerking away from her, but felt like shit for being an asshole. "Just give me a second," I said, meeting her eyes and trying to convey how fucking sorry I was, "to calm down."
"Okay," Bella said, taking a step back and giving me some space, only for a second. Once it was up, I wasn't given anymore. She grabbed my arm like she didn't give a damn that I could break her in half and dragged me to the bathroom. "You're gonna get a goddamn infection, you idiot," she muttered, wetting a rag. "Keep pulling this shit, and you'll be down to stumps."
"Good," I shot back flatly, glaring at the cracked mirror. Blood streaked the glass, my reflection a hollow-eyed wreck. Jaw locked, muscles tight, looking like someone I didn't even recognize. "Maybe then I won't have to deal with this fucking circus."
"Hold still," she ordered, dabbing at the cuts. The sting made me flinch, but I didn't fight her. Not because I cared, but because I was too fucking tired. Too empty. Too done.
As she worked, her hands trembled just enough for me to notice. She was scared—of me, of the shitstorm we were stuck in, of everything. And I fucking hated that. Hated that I couldn't fix it. Hated that this was all because of him. My father. The man who was supposed to protect me but had sold me out instead. The man who threw me and Bella to the wolves while he sat on his throne, untouchable and grinning for the cameras.
"I'm going to make him pay for this," I said, low and cold, with the kind of fury that burned like acid. "Every single fucking thing he's done. He doesn't get to walk away."
Bella didn't look up, just kept cleaning my busted hand. "And how exactly are you going to do that?" she asked, cutting through me like a scalpel. "Release the photos?"
"That's just the start," I said, my jaw tightening. "He wants to paint me as the villain? Fine. I'll show the world exactly what kind of bastard raised me."
That made her pause. Her hands stopped moving, and she finally glanced up, meeting my eyes for a second before looking away. I could see her trying to process what I'd said, to figure out what I meant. But instead of asking, she turned her attention back to my hand, wiping away the blood in careful, precise motions.
Her voice was softer now, but I could hear the tension in it. "Now, when you say 'show them,' what do you mean by that?"
I leaned back against the counter, tilting my head as a grin spread across my face. "I mean we're going to do whatever the fuck we want."
That made her stop completely. She stared at me like I'd lost my mind, which, to be fair, maybe I had. "Which means what?" she asked, her tone sharp now. "That we stop running? Stop hiding?"
"No." I crossed my arms over my chest, still grinning. "It means we go on a crime spree and make ourselves a household name."
Her reaction was instant—her eyes widened in disbelief before she rolled them so hard I thought they might get stuck. She shoved the washcloth against my chest and stepped back. "You're fucking insane," she snapped. "We'll be caught after the first robbery."
I shrugged, brushing the cloth off like it was nothing and tossing it in the sink. "Maybe not."
She laughed, the sound bitter and dry. "Yeah, maybe not. Or maybe you oughta sleep on it before you start planning your stupid little suicide mission."
She spun on her heel and walked out of the bathroom, but I wasn't letting her get the last word. Not this time. I followed her, grabbing her arm and spinning her around to face me. "Tell me why you think this is such a bad idea," I said, daring her to argue.
"Because…" She trailed off, stepping closer, and before I could say anything, her hands were on my face, forcing me to look at her. "Listen to me," she said, soft but firm. "As much as I want to go out there and raise hell with you—and believe me, I do—I don't think it's the smartest thing for us to be doing right now. We've already caused enough trouble. Why keep pushing our luck? Just stop and think about what you're suggesting."
I scoffed, shaking my head, but her hands stayed on my cheeks, grounding me in place. "I have thought about it. And what I've realized is this: we're fucked, Bella. Completely, royally fucked."
She sighed, exasperated. "Yeah, I know we are. That's what I'm trying to tell you, but you're not—"
"No, baby, you don't get it. Do you even know what the prison sentence for extortion is? Especially when it involves a goddamn U.S. senator?"
She blinked, silent for a beat, then shook her head.
"Twenty-five years to life," I said, each word perfectly enunciated so there was no mistaken my meaning. "Life. You understand?"
Her expression shifted—fear, frustration, something else I couldn't quite place—but she held my gaze. "Then why even bother running?" she asked quietly. "If it's a done deal, why waste their time and ours?"
I smirked. "Because if they want us, they're going to have to fucking catch us first."
She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, I reached out, lifting her chin with my fingers. I pressed a soft kiss to the tip of her nose, then leaned back just enough to look her in the eye.
"Which they will," I added, smirking now, the edge of chaos creeping in. "But I figured, fuck it. We might as well have some fun first. Go out in a blaze of fucking glory, you know?"
My girl stared at me, her expression a mix of disbelief and something darker—something I could feel tugging at her even though she didn't want to admit it.
She shook her head, a laugh bubbling out of her, sharp and incredulous. "Again, and I mean this in the most loving way possible, but you're out of your fucking mind. Jesus, Edward! Do you even hear yourself?"
I clenched my jaw, staring at the kid. She didn't get it. She was still trying to find the light at the end of the tunnel, the miracle fix that didn't exist. She wanted to believe we could outrun this, outsmart it. But I'd done the math. I'd run through every scenario a thousand times, and it all ended the same way: with us in prison or dead.
"Listen to me," I said, my voice sharp. "You think we can hide forever? You think they're not going to catch up with us eventually? Whether the cops, or someone else, they'll get to us. This shit only ends one way."
She glanced up at me, her expression tight with frustration. She didn't want to hear it. I didn't blame her. But I wasn't sugarcoating shit for her, not now. Not when the world was already falling apart.
"And if it's already over," I said, leaning closer, "why not go out on our terms?"
She tried to process what I was saying. I could see the wheels turning in her head, the way she was trying to find a flaw in my logic.
But there wasn't one.
At least, not for me.
This wasn't about winning. It wasn't about justice or even revenge. It was about taking back control. My father, the cartel, the law—they'd all been pulling the strings for too long, and I was done dancing for them. If they wanted me to play the bad guy, I'd play the fucking bad guy. But I'd do it my way.
The truth was, I didn't care if we got caught. I didn't care if we went down in flames. I just cared about making them feel the fire. If I had to destroy myself to take them down with me, so be it.
And Bella? She was my reason for everything. My anchor, my obsession, my only constant. If I was going to burn, I wanted her beside me. I'd fight like hell to keep her safe, but I wasn't going to sit in the dark and pretend we had a chance at a normal life. Not when the world was already stacked against us.
"Tell me what you're really worried about," I asked, watching her carefully. "Is it going to prison?"
Her lips parted, hesitation flickering across her face before she answered. "Yes," she said, but I caught the shift in her almost immediately. She wasn't done. I stayed quiet, giving her space to work through whatever the hell was going on in her head. She sighed, her fingers brushing over mine like she needed the contact to steady herself. "I mean, no, that's not the only reason," she admitted finally. "I'm afraid of losing you. Not my freedom."
That hit me square in the chest. The fear in her voice, the vulnerability she rarely showed—it gutted me. I tightened my hold on her hand, grounding both of us. "I promise you that I won't let that happen."
Her brows pulled together, doubt creeping into her expression. "But you just told me that—"
"Forget what I said," I cut her off, leaning closer. "I'm promising you now. I won't let that happen. Okay?"
Bella nodded, but the look in her eyes told me she didn't fully believe me. Not yet. The odds were shit, and she knew it. I couldn't blame her for doubting me—I doubted myself sometimes. But I'd die before I let anyone take her away from me.
She stayed quiet for a moment, her gaze dropping as her shoulders sagged under the weight of everything unsaid. And then something shifted. Her eyes widened, her breath hitching, and she took a step back like she'd been hit.
"Holy shit," she whispered, stumbling away from me. "This is all my fault."
"What?" I asked, narrowing my eyes as I watched her unravel. She was spiraling fast, guilt and panic etched into every line of her face. I didn't hesitate. In one stride, I crossed the room, gripping the back of her neck and pulling her toward me before she could sink any deeper. "Listen to me, Bella," I growled, forcing her to meet my eyes. "This shit is not your fault. I'm the one who caused all of this, alright? Me. Not you."
She tried to pull away, but I tightened my hold, refusing to let her run. "No," she said, trembling but defiant. "If you never met me, Edward, you'd be home with your family. You wouldn't be on the run or have your face plastered all over the news."
"I don't fucking care about that," I snapped to cut through the storm in her head.
She shook her head, still fighting me, still trying to shoulder the blame. "I know you don't, but I do. I'm the problem," she insisted, slowly breaking as she shrugged helplessly. "That's the truth."
"No," I growled again, leaning down until our foreheads touched. My grip softened just enough to let my fingers slide into her hair, anchoring her to me. "If you're the problem, then I'm the problem." I locked eyes with her, my voice dropping lower, rougher, as I made damn sure she heard me. "And what I had before you? I could hardly call that a fucking life. At best, it was filler. Empty. You, my beautiful, crazy girl—you're the only thing that makes this piece-of-shit life worth living. Don't you ever fucking doubt that. Do you hear me?"
Bella nodded, her fingers clutching the back of my shirt like I was the only solid thing in the room. "I love you."
Mother fuck, I didn't deserve her. Not with everything I'd dragged her into. Not with the kind of life I'd cursed her with. But here she was, looking at me like I was worth saving. I smiled anyway, brushing the back of my hand against her cheek, trying to keep her steady even though I was anything but. "See?" I said, my voice lighter than I felt. "I can't be that big of a piece of shit if someone like you loves me, right?"
Her eyes narrowed, that stubborn fire sparking in them. "You're not a piece of shit," she said firmly, like she could will the words to be true just by saying them out loud.
I didn't answer. What could I say? She wasn't wrong, but she wasn't right, either. I'd done too much, gone too far, and I'd keep going if it meant keeping her safe. Instead, I chewed on my lip ring, letting the metal scrape against my teeth as I stared at her. She was watching me too, her gaze locked on my mouth, like she wasn't thinking about arguing anymore.
I saw her breath hitch as my tongue flicked across my bottom lip. Good. She was always easy to read when she looked at me like that—like she didn't care what kind of trouble we were in, as long as we were in it together. And fuck, I couldn't resist her, not when she leaned into me like this. Not when she made me feel like I was the only thing holding her world together.
She rose onto her toes, her arms sliding around my neck as she kissed me, fierce and desperate, like I was the air she needed to breathe. And hell, I kissed her back just as hard. She tasted like adrenaline, like chaos, like something I'd never deserve but would never let go of. Her tongue stroked against mine, sending a jolt through me that made my blood feel like it was on fire. Every nerve in my body lit up, and for a few perfect seconds, there was no cartel, no cops, no fucking mess we couldn't escape. Just her. Only her.
But the thought crept in anyway, dark and heavy. If they tried to take her from me, I wouldn't let it happen. I'd kill us both before I let them win.
I pulled back first, even though I didn't want to. She didn't take it well, her lips chasing mine like she wasn't ready for the kiss to end. I smirked at her, smug as hell, because knowing I could wreck her like this gave me the power I needed to keep going.
"You were on board the moment I suggested it, weren't you?" I asked, the grin stretching wider as her eyes flicked up to meet mine.
She raised an eyebrow, trying to play coy. "I'm sorry?"
I laughed, shaking my head. "You make me jump through hoops for the fucking fun of it, don't you? I'm not crazy."
She sighed, her shoulders dropping as she finally gave in. "I'll follow you anywhere, Edward. You know that."
Her words hit me harder than I let on. I knew she meant it—knew she'd walk straight into hell if it meant staying by my side. And that terrified me. She didn't realize what that kind of loyalty could cost her. She thought this was a game, a high stakes gamble we might win. But I knew better.
"Even if it lands us in jail," I said quietly, "or dead."
Her gaze didn't waver, but I saw the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. She wasn't stupid. She knew the risks. "Is that the only options you're giving me," she asked, steady but sharp, "or are we going to fuck this town up and do the impossible?"
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. "Which is?"
"We get away scot-free," she said, her lips curving into a small, defiant smile, "and live happily ever after."
I chuckled, shaking my head as I leaned in just close enough for her to feel my breath on her skin. "You're something else, you know that?"
She was. Crazy, reckless, perfect. And completely fucking mine.
But I couldn't shake the dark truth I kept buried beneath the surface: I'd destroy anyone who tried to take her from me. My father, the cartel, the law. If it came to it, I'd destroy myself, too.
Shoving the manila envelope into the mailbox, I watched it drop like I'd just signed away the last shred of my soul. Inside were the photos—every one of them a fucking death sentence for Carlisle Cullen. By tonight, his perfect little life would be in pieces. Lies exposed. Empire ruined. The bastard deserved worse, but this was a good start.
The gas station door chimed, snapping me out of whatever the hell I was brooding over. And then she stepped out—Bella—boots hitting the pavement like she was about to burn the whole world down. Goddamn. Her hair was a mess, just wild enough to make my fingers itch to get lost in it, and her tank top clung to her like it owed me a favor. Those legs. Those big-ass boots. Like she could stomp me into the ground and I'd thank her for it.
She looked at me, eyes sharp and knowing, like she had front-row seats to every filthy thought racing through my head. And there were a lot. Too many to count. Too many to say out loud. Not yet anyway.
"You done standing there like a fucking creep, or do I need to carry you inside?" she asked almost too sternly, but that grin—Jesus, that grin—cut me in all the best ways.
I stalked toward her, calculated and deliberate, every step about getting my hands on her. "You're in a mood," I said, my voice low enough to make her feel it. "Miss me that much?"
She rolled her eyes, but there it was—the smile she couldn't hide, stretching wide like she was caught. "I missed getting shit done. You've been dragging ass all day."
I caught the door, holding it open like a gentleman, but the smirk I threw her was anything but. "Maybe I like watching you walk away."
She brushed past me, so close I could feel her—heat, scent, electricity, all of it. "Careful," she muttered, quieter now, like maybe she wanted me to work for it. "You might actually charm me."
"Don't tempt me," I said, the words coming out more like a promise than a warning.
Inside, the place was even worse than it looked from the outside. Cracked floors, shelves covered in dust, the stink of burnt coffee and fryer grease clinging to everything. A shithole, top to bottom. Bella didn't seem to care. She strolled down the aisles, picking up whatever caught her eye—candy bars, instant noodles, Funyuns. She moved like she belonged, like the grime and stink couldn't touch her.
Meanwhile, I stood back, scanning the room. Cameras in every corner. No back door. The shelves cast some shadows, but not enough to hide anything useful. The clerk was a mountain of a guy, beard like a bird's nest, hands too still on the counter. And under the counter? A shotgun, just barely visible if you knew where to look. This place was a goddamn trap.
Bella tossed another pack of Ramen into her basket, then shot me a grin. "What's your problem? You look like someone just pissed in your cereal."
"Just thinking about how to keep your ass out of trouble," I said, walking up behind her. "Not easy, by the way."
She turned, leaning closer. "Who said I want to stay out of trouble?"
I couldn't help laughing. "You're gonna get us killed."
Her smirk widened. "Only if you can't keep up."
I reached past her, grabbing a bag of Doritos just to close the space between us. "Oh, I can keep up. Question is, can you?"
Bella scoffed, but didn't answer me. She didn't have to. That girl do more than just keep up with me. In fact, I was the asshole trailing behind her, like a sad little fucking pup. Christ, this girl owned me. If I didn't get off on it, my own sorry ass might be annoyed. The shit men do when we're fucking in love.
Moving on.
Bella and I continued to walk up and down the aisle 'shopping.' She focused on the necessities and I kept an eye on the clerk. He acted oblivious, like he wasn't paying attention to his two, very recognizable customers, but that fucker didn't fool me. He was two seconds away from calling the FBI. That wouldn't end well for him. I smirked, giving him a head nod when he looked up and locked eyes with me. Yeah, that's right, motherfucker, go ahead and try.
"You're kind of quiet today." Bella had stopped in the middle of the aisle and stared up at me. "You feeling okay?"
I shrugged, grabbing a bottle of water off the shelf and avoiding her eyes. "Just thinking."
"About what?" Her tone was casual, but I could hear the edge of curiosity creeping in. She wasn't going to let it slide.
"Nothing important," I said, forcing a smile. "Why? You worried about me?"
She narrowed her eyes, giving me that look, the one that said she wasn't buying my bullshit. "Should I be?"
I laughed, dry and sharp, and shook my head. "Nah. Just… thinking about..." Killing the clerk if he even thinks about reaching for his phone, "my mom, I guess."
That caught her off guard. Her teasing faded, her expression softening. "Your mom?"
"Yeah. She, uh… had four miscarriages." The lie slipped out easy, too easy, and I hated myself for it. But it was better than the truth. Anything was better than the truth.
Bella blinked, caught between surprise and confusion. "Four?"
"Yeah. I think I was ten when she had the last one. That's when she found God. Real dramatic shit. Started going to church every Sunday, dragging the rest of us with her." I forced a laugh, trying to make it sound like a joke. "Guess it was her way of coping."
Bella's eyes stayed on me, searching, but I didn't give her anything more. "That's… awful," she said after a moment. "How old were you when it started?"
"Old enough to remember," I said, twisting the cap off the water bottle and taking a sip. "Old enough to know they stopped trying after the last one. Guess I wasn't exactly what they were hoping for." Her face twisted into something like pity, and I wanted to look away. Instead, I leaned into it, doubling down. "It's not like they blamed me. Not for the miscarriages, anyway. But, you know, after that, everything had to be perfect. Like she needed proof that at least one kid turned out right."
Bella frowned. "And that was supposed to be you?"
"Yeah," I said with a bitter smirk. "And look how that turned out."
She didn't laugh, didn't smile, just kept watching me like she was trying to crack me open. It made my skin crawl. I couldn't let her dig any deeper.
"She's not a bad person, you know," I said, trying to steer the conversation back to safe ground. "Four miscarriages, that kind of pain… It fucks you up. Makes you do things you wouldn't otherwise. You can't blame her for that."
Bella's brows furrowed. "You sound like you're still trying to convince yourself of that."
I shrugged, avoiding her gaze again. "Maybe I am."
She frowned, and for a second, I thought she might argue. Instead, she muttered, "No wonder you turned to a life of crime."
"That's what my therapist said. But they were wrong too. Sometimes the world makes you what you are. Sometimes it doesn't. You just are."
Bella's gaze stayed on me, heavy and searching, like she was peeling back the layers I didn't want anyone to see. I hated it, but I couldn't look away. I didn't need her to say anything, didn't want her pity or whatever was brewing behind those dark eyes. Just having her here was enough. It always was.
After a moment, she broke the silence. "What was it like? Growing up, I mean."
The question caught me off guard, and I shifted, trying to decide how much to say. "Strict," I said finally. "My dad had rules for everything, and my mom… she just backed him up. No excuses, no questions, no wiggle room."
She tilted her head, watching me like she was waiting for more. "And you?"
I shrugged, shoving my hands in my pockets. "I was the screw-up. Always said the wrong thing, did the wrong thing. My dad hated that. He used to say I was 'deliberately difficult.' Like I was trying to piss him off just by existing."
Her frown deepened, and I could see the wheels turning in her head. "That's a lot of pressure. Being perfect, I mean."
"Yeah, well, I wasn't perfect." I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Not even close. After the miscarriages, I think my mom just needed something to believe in. And that sure as hell wasn't me."
"You really think that?"
"I don't think it. I know it." I tapped the side of my head, smirking like it didn't sting. "Crazy, damaged, all wrong. That's me."
Her eyes stayed on me, steady and unwavering, and I could feel her trying to figure out how to respond.
I moved past her, grabbing a can of chicken soup off the shelf and into the basket. "We don't have to turn this into a therapy session, you know. I'm fine."
"Sure, you are," she said, dry but tinged with something I couldn't name. She followed me down the aisle, tossing another candy bar into the basket. "You're a total picture of mental health."
That made me laugh, a quick, real one this time. "Damn right."
The conversation shifted after that. Bella started asking questions—not about my family, but about the things I'd done. The crimes, the risks, the darker parts of my life I usually kept buried.
We reached the back of the store, where the cameras didn't reach, and I slowed, glancing around. Every detail mattered—the angles, the blind spots, the exits. Risk and opportunity, always balanced on the edge of a knife. This was second nature to me now, like breathing. Bella leaned against the end of the shelf, watching me again.
"What are you looking for?" she asked.
"Trouble," I said without thinking, smirking as I turned to face her.
"Found it," she shot back, her grin sharp.
And for a second, the tension slipped away. Just her and me, standing in this shitty gas station, flirting like the world outside didn't exist.
"Can I ask you something?" Bella asked, but something made her nervous, and she stammered. "You don't have to answer or anything."
Oh, fuck, I thought. Whatever she wanted to know was going to determine how she saw me moving forward.
"Just ask me," I said.
Bella didn't look away, her eyes sharp and steady. "You ever killed someone?"
I didn't flinch. I didn't look away. "Yes."
The air between us felt heavier, like the walls of this shitty gas station were closing in. She didn't react, didn't even blink. "Tell me about it."
I leaned back against the shelf, crossing my arms. "You sure?"
She nodded; her gaze locked on mine. "Yeah. I'm sure."
I tilted my head, studying her for a moment. Most people would've backed off by now, pretending they didn't want to know. But Bella wasn't most people. So, I shrugged. "Alright. What the hell."
Pushing off the shelf, I grabbed her by the arm and led her to the back of the store. My voice dropped to a whisper. "So, look. I was sixteen. This guy—Daniels—used to hang around my neighborhood. He wasn't anyone important. Not a gang leader, not some drug kingpin. Just some asshole who liked to fuck with kids, rough 'em up, steal their shit. He had this… superiority complex, like he was untouchable because he was older and bigger than the rest of us."
Bella didn't interrupt, didn't look away. I could feel her eyes on me, heavy and unflinching.
"One day, I watched him beat the shit out of some kid I knew—Jason. Daniels broke his nose over a fucking basketball, and Jason didn't do anything. Just sat there bleeding while Daniels laughed, like it was the funniest goddamn thing he'd ever seen." My jaw tightened; the memory was still sharp in my head. "That's when I started thinking."
"Thinking what?" Bella asked.
"That someone needed to do something about him," I said simply. "He was a parasite. A bully who fed on fear. And I was tired of it. So, I followed him home that night. Watched where he lived, what time he went to bed, who was around. I did that for three days, just watching, learning. And then one night, I went back."
Bella's lips parted slightly, but she didn't say anything, didn't try to stop me.
Fuck, I wished somebody would've stopped me. But telling her something I'd never told anyone before felt freeing, cathartic, in a way.
So, my dumbass kept on talking.
"I waited until it was dark, until his place was quiet. He didn't have much security—a busted front door lock, windows that didn't close all the way. Getting in wasn't hard. He was asleep on the couch, drunk off his ass. Didn't even hear me coming." I smirked at the memory. "I stood there for a long time, just… watching him. Watching him breathe, wondering what it would feel like to stop it."
"Jesus," Bella muttered, but it wasn't fear in her voice. It was something else. Curiosity, maybe.
"And then I did it," I said.
Her eyes were wide as she leaned in closer. "Did what?"
"I put a knife through his throat. He woke up, of course. Grabbed at me, tried to scream, but there wasn't much sound. Just choking. Blood everywhere. It took longer than I thought it would, but eventually, he stopped moving."
Bella was silent, her eyes wide but not with shock. She looked like she was trying to process what I'd just said, like she couldn't decide if she should be horrified or impressed.
"I didn't feel bad," I said, leaning back against the shelf again. "Still don't. He deserved it. And when they found him the next day, nobody cried. Nobody even cared. Just another dead asshole."
Bella broke the silence, barely above a whisper, like she wasn't sure she should say it at all. "I killed once."
I froze. The words sucker-punched me in a way I didn't see coming. My brain scrambled, half-choked on the idea. Bella, my Bella, with blood on her hands? It was wrong. Too wrong. And yet, underneath all the wrongness, there was something else—something that shouldn't have been there. A twisted, electric pulse of excitement. I didn't want to feel it. Didn't want to like the idea. But I did.
God help me, I did.
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "You… killed someone?"
She didn't look at me. Just fidgeted with the corner of a candy wrapper, like she thought she could peel herself out of the conversation if she tried hard enough. "Not someone," she said finally. "Something."
My shoulders eased just a little, but my mind kept spinning. "What do you mean?"
She looked up at me then, her eyes unreadable, like she was daring me to laugh, to call her out. "It was a hamster. His name was Joey."
I stared at her, waiting for the punchline, but it never came. "Your big murder story is about a hamster?"
Her face stayed deadly serious, but I saw it—the tiniest flicker of a smirk, like she was enjoying this. "It wasn't just any hamster," she said. "He was my hamster. And I killed him."
I blinked at her, not sure if I was supposed to laugh or if this was some kind of psychological test I was failing. "Alright," I said, crossing my arms. "What happened?"
She sighed, like she didn't even want to tell me but couldn't back out now. "I was eleven. Joey was… not the most fun pet. He bit me all the time, and honestly, he smelled like shit. One day, I got sick of it. So, I locked him in this old plywood cabinet in the garage."
I waited, already feeling the grin tugging at the edges of my mouth. "And?"
"And I forgot about him," she said, deadpan. "When I went back a few days later, I found him. He'd eaten the wood. A lot of it. Enough to, you know… kill him."
I stared at her, dead silent for a second before the laugh tore out of me, sharp and sudden. "You're telling me you murdered your hamster by locking him in a shitty cabinet and letting him eat himself to death?"
Her face stayed calm, but I could see the glint in her eyes now, like she was barely holding back. "That's exactly what I'm telling you."
The laughter hit harder, and I couldn't stop it. It poured out of me, sharp and ugly, like all the tension I'd been carrying had found a way to bleed out. Relief. And maybe something darker, something I couldn't name.
"Jesus Christ, Bella," I managed, shaking my head as the laughter finally started to die down. "You had me thinking you'd done something serious. Like, real serious."
She raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into the tiniest smile. "Hey, it was serious. I killed him. That's murder, isn't it?"
"Yeah, sure. Hamster homicide. Real cold-blooded."
She rolled her eyes, muttering, "You're an ass," but I wasn't letting her off that easy.
The grin slid off my face, replaced by something sharper, something heavier. I straightened up, stepping into her space before she had time to move back. "You think that's killing?" My voice dropped low, coiled tight.
Her smile faltered. "I mean… yeah, technically—"
"Not until you put a gun to a guy's head," I cut her off, lifting my hand. I formed a mock pistol with my fingers and pressed it gently against her temple. Her breath hitched, her eyes wide and locked on mine. "And pull the trigger," I said too steadily, too deliberately, and too dangerous. "Until then, you'll always be a killing virgin."
The words hung in the air between us, heavy as a loaded gun. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out. I could feel the tension building, crackling, until it was almost too much.
Then I let my hand fall, smirking like I hadn't just blown a hole through the mood. "Joey the hamster doesn't count, kid."
Her lips parted like she was about to say something, but I turned and walked away, leaving her standing there.
In hindsight, I shouldn't have goaded her, forcing her hand to prove something to me. Hell, you would think I would've learned in Saint Louis. Nope, not me. Thick-fucking-skull Cullen. I thought I was teaching her a lesson, showing her that she was good, wholesome, and not some callous psycho like me. Because she needed to understand what this world was, what it did to you once you stepped into it. If she crossed that line to kill, there was no going back.
I reached the end of the aisle when I heard the shuffle of her steps behind me. She caught up quickly, skipping to close the gap like this was a game.
"What's the point of all this?" Bella asked, her eyes sharp and challenging. She crossed her arms, standing there with a defiance that made something inside me twist. "We're just… shopping?"
I didn't stop moving. Just grabbed a couple of water bottles off the shelf, the motion automatic. "Even the smallest job needs a plan," I said, not looking at her. "You can't just walk in and start waving a gun around. Too many variables."
She snorted, falling into step beside me. "Do you always plan this much?"
"Before you?" I glanced at her then, smirking. "Yeah. I was meticulous. Anal about it."
She narrowed her eyes at me, suspicion flashing across her face. "And now? You're blaming me for messing up your plans?"
"Not blaming," I said, dropping the bottles into the basket with a thud and turned back to the shelves. "Just stating a fact. Love makes you stupid. And I'm a fucking idiot over you."
"I would say I'm sorry," Bella said, her tone light, playful even, like she was testing the waters to see how much she could get away with.
I stopped, turning just enough to meet her eyes, narrowing mine as I let the words hang in the air. "You're not," I said, teasing but stern enough to make my point.
She smiled, and fuck me if it wasn't the kind of smile that could torch every good intention I'd ever had. "Not even a little," she said, her voice smug, arms folding across her chest as she leaned back against the shelf like she owned the place, like she owned me.
I smirked, mostly to stop myself from doing something stupid. "Yeah, figured." I turned away, grabbing the nearest can of soup, some random bullshit snack, playing it cool even though her presence was burning holes in the back of my skull. I felt her. Every shift, every breath. She was a fucking gravity well, pulling me in no matter how much I fought it.
That's how I knew something was wrong. I didn't even have to look. That gut-wrenching hollowness hit first—sharp, cold, and bottomless. Like being gutted from the inside out, painful and cruel. It clawed its way up my spine, dug into my chest, and squeezed until my lungs forgot how to work.
Still, I turned. Because what the fuck else could I do? Slow, like dragging my feet would make it better, like the truth wouldn't hit as hard if I eased into it.
And then I heard her.
"Give me all your money. Now!"
She was at the counter, her shadow stretched long and jagged under those shitty, flickering lights. A gun. Bella had a fucking gun. Clutched in her hand like it was a part of her. Like she'd always been meant to hold it.
The girl I never had a shot at saving. The girl I couldn't fucking stop. That girl was robbing the store.
My stomach dropped so hard I thought I might throw up. My fucking heart—no, my whole goddamn soul—just stopped.
The clerk didn't even blink. Just stared at her, dead-eyed, like she was a goddamn joke. Like she was some kid playing dress-up in a world too big for her. He was right. She didn't see it—what he was capable of. But I saw it. I saw how his hand twitched to his left. How he was going for the shotgun under the counter. It all played out before me, my worst fear, in slow motion. I knew what was coming, could taste the blood already, metallic and thick.
This was it. The end of the line. The moment it all went to hell.
This is what dying feels like.
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