Born, Darkly (Darkly, Madly Duet Book 1)

GRAYSON

“All rise.”

I stand along with my lawyer and straighten my tie, giving it a tug to loosen it from around my constricted throat.

“At least there were no videos to defend this time around,” Young whispers my way. “Good luck.”

Luck isn’t on my side. London made sure of that. My lawyer has lost all of that enthusiastic hope he had early on at winning his shot. Her testimony shocked everyone here. Probably every professional in her field. The only person not surprised by her dramatic shift from savior to condemner is me.

I suppress a smile. I loved every second of watching her embrace her killer instinct.

As the jury enters, I look around the room instead of at them. I don’t need to see their hung heads and grave expressions. I knew the outcome of this trial before it started. I’m looking for London. She’s all that matters now.

She’s not here to witness her victory, however. I imagine she’s sitting alone in some hotel room, awaiting the verdict. Her guilt keeping her company. Funny thing about guilt; it’s a tricky emotion, often mistaken for shame.

London has nothing to feel ashamed about. Who wouldn’t defend their life? I’m a threat she can’t allow. I gave her no other choice.

“In the matter of Delaware verses Grayson Sullivan, for the charge of first-degree murder, how do you find the defendant?”

“Guilty, Your Honor.”

This snags my attention and I look at the judge. His narrowed eyes are already on me. He runs down the list of charges, finalizing the jury’s guilty verdict to all, then thanks the jury for their service and dismisses them.

“I have my own declarations to proclaim before your sentencing, Mr. Sullivan,” the judge says. “If not for the painfully slow process of our justice system, I would personally see to it that your execution be swiftly delivered. The murders you’ve been found guilty of are a gross and heinous act of the worst kind. In my thirty years as a judge, I have never witnessed a more blatant disregard for human life. Do you have anything to proclaim to the court before you’re sentenced?”

My lawyer taps my foot, giving me the cue to stand and deliver my practiced plea for clemency.

So I do. I stand and lift my chin. “I do, Your Honor. I proclaim that Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” The courtroom erupts. The judge slams the gavel, trying to quiet the outburst. My lawyer hangs his head.

I smile. I’ve waited a lifetime to quote Shakespeare.

“Grayson Pierce Sullivan,” the judge says over the commotion. “You’re hereby found guilty and sentenced to no more than one-hundred years of imprisonment for each life you took. You’re to be incarcerated in maximum security at the New Castle Correctional Facility, where you’ll await to be executed by lethal injection until you’re dead.” He leans over the bench. “No god will have mercy on your soul.”

“You’re welcome,” I say to him with a wink.

He glares at me, but not in confusion. Judge Lancaster has sentenced the majority of Delaware’s capital punishment cases to death. Thirty years of killing with the law as his murder weapon. He’s a killer that uses the law to murder his victims, and he’s enjoying every moment of this—one last hurrah before the state abolishes capital punishment for good.

“Remove this monster from my courtroom.” He slams the gavel one last time, the final note in my life.

The handcuffs circle my wrists. My blood rushes past constricted arteries, the dizziness setting in. The lights flicker in my vision. My breath wheezes out, and I struggle to pull a full lungful of air past the knot in my throat. My lungs are burning.

Young notices first. “Sullivan, it’s all right. We’ll appeal. This isn’t the end—” He’s cut off when the seizure starts.

My jaw locks as the tremor takes hold of my muscles. I feel the frothy foam of vomit dribble down my chin.

“We need a doctor!” Young shouts.

The officer allows my body to drop to the floor. The cuffs bite into my skin as my body quakes. But before the world dims, there she is. Looking down at me. My angel of mercy to take away the pain.

London leans over me and presses her soft fingers to my neck. “He’s going into shock. Anaphylaxis.”

Her deep brown eyes are wide as she stares down. I try to count the specs of gold. They blur and dim until I lose sight of her all together. I’m able to mouth one word to her before the lights go out.

Killer.