Nightfall (Devil's Night, #4)

by Penelope Douglas

He turned his head, looking at the body again. “She started fucking me when I was twelve,” he whispered. “After a while, you get tired of pretending that you’re in control of everything that happens to you.” He paused, turning to me again. “And you start being what happens to everyone else.” Spinning back around, he walked over to his mother, crouched down next to her body as he faced me, and wrapped his hand around the front of her throat. I watched as his fingers curled, tightening, and the whites of his knuckles flashed in the dark. He lifted his eyes to mine, watching me as I watched him. My toes curled, my reflex to run, but… I felt it. My hand, not his. My fingers hummed, slowly balling into fists, and I breathed heavy, feeling my heart pound and the bile rise up my throat, but… God, I wanted to be him. I wanted to do it. I liked this feeling. I wanted to kill, and I squeezed my fists until they ached, but I didn’t move until she stopped jerking and gasping and shaking, one of her legs dipping over the side of the grave. Damon held my eyes the whole time. The part of me that always gave in to tears was gone. Tears solved nothing.