In The End | Daryl Dixon

Chapter 66: You're Gonna Wish You Were Dead

Daryl's face shifted—just slightly. Like I'd knocked the wind out of him without even touching him.

I barely had time to process it before Negan sauntered back over to Rick.

"Rick," he said with a heavy sigh. "This is just gonna make you sad. Broken. You're gonna wish you were dead. I like having fun, I do. But maybe you think that the guy who did what he did to your friends wasn't really me. Like that was some kind of put-on. Like I'm not the guy with the bat—I'm just the guy who makes your kid spaghetti."

Rick looked up, glaring daggers through him.

"Oh, shit. Maybe this is on me," Negan went on, almost thoughtfully. "Maybe it's all on me. I gotta make it right. Start fresh. I'll tell you, Rick, if I had a kid, I'd want him to be just like yours. Which makes this so much harder."

Carl lifted his head. "You're not gonna win."

Negan looked down at him. "Carl. It's over. Why don't you point your one good ball up the street there and take it all in?"

A scream tore through the air. I whipped my head toward the sound just in time to see a woman's body falling from a rooftop.

Rick and Carl froze. Their eyes went wide. Rick's expression shattered—like someone had ripped the air from his lungs.

I didn't need anyone to say it. I knew it had something to do with Michonne.

Negan chuckled, slow and cruel. "Oh. You just lost somebody important to you. Like—just now. Jesus. That's timing."

He turned back to Rick. "Well, Rick... you chose this. And I honestly don't know what more I could've done to warn you. But this? This ain't a warning."

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping.

"This is punishment. I'm gonna kill Carl now."

My heart dropped.

I turned sharply, eyes locking on Negan as he rose to his feet and moved behind Carl, raising Lucille with that sick, theatrical calm he always wore. My breath caught in my throat.

"Not him," I said, my voice cutting through the air.

Negan paused. "Why not him?"

"He's just a kid."

He turned toward me slowly, like a predator drawn to weakness—or curiosity. He stepped closer, then stood over me. Lucille came under my chin, the barbed wire biting into my skin as he lifted my head with the bat. I winced, feeling the sharp sting, but I didn't look away.

"Well shit," he drawled. "Look at you, pullin' on my damn heartstrings."

Blood trickled down my neck, but I held his gaze. "You said only one person had to die," I said, voice firm. "So kill me. Not him."

For a moment, it was quiet. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Negan leaned in, so close I could smell the sweat and blood on him. His eyes searched mine, amused, almost impressed.

"You're serious," he murmured. "You'd take a bat to the head for him."

"I'd take it twice if it meant saving him."

He chuckled, low and dark. "Goddamn. You got guts, sweetheart. I like that. But you see, that was before you shot up all my people." He said before turning back to Rick. "So now, I'm gonna kill Carl. I'm gonna make it one nice, hard swing, try to do it one because I like him. I just want you to put that in your brain and roll it around for a minute. I'm gonna kill Carl, then I'm gonna kill Jordyn, which really sucks. Then Lucille here, she's gonna take your hands."