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This man just murdered my ex-husband. Seeing Joey beg for his life keeps bringing tears to my eyes. And that story… What was that? He raped this man’s wife? I still can’t believe it.
There are so many questions I want answers to, but I guess none of it matters. I’ve seen too much. I’m a dead woman walking.
The car doors are locked. Even if I were able to somehow get out, I’d be a rolling corpse on the highway. It’s a sad state when you’re weighing the best possible death. Being run over can be agonizing and slow. Torture in this man’s basement would probably be the worst of it. Did Joey get off easy? A few minutes of agony before a shot in the head numbs it all.
My mind’s been spinning for hours. Flashes of the good times with Joey are few and far between. Remembering our wedding day – how he threatened not to show up because of a fight we had the night before… it boils my blood. I found a bra on the side of our bed that wasn’t mine, and he spun it on me. Said I’m crazy and that it’s probably my sister’s. Even the good days were sprinkled with snippets of hell.
I followed him into ruin, and now I’m on the road to the end.
Leandro was right… I didn’t feel sad when Joey died, I was relieved. Such a terrible thing to think, but it’s true.
The sun’s rising now, reflecting rays of light against Leandro’s perfect skin. I have no idea why I see such a dangerous man as attractive. Maybe because he really did release me from a prison like some dark savior. Maybe that’s why.
I shove the thought deep into the depths of my mind and find the courage to break the silence.
“What happens now?”
Leandro’s leather jacket scrunches as he turns, and one of his hazel eyes latches onto me. I want to melt into the backseat. It’s like a wolf who found its prey.
“That chicken parm I ate. You made it?”
“Did Joey look like the cooking type?” I say angrily.
He sniffs. “That’s what I thought. Well, I’m bored of Jane’s cooking. Maybe you can take up that role.”
My eyes nearly bulge out of my head.
What the hell is he talking about? He’s not going to kill me?
My mind runs to a thousand places. I imagine a confine like in the Walking Dead, where everyone bows to Negan. Then I think of American Gangster when all the ladies count the money naked so they can’t steal. Am I going to be some kind of slave? And Jane… Who’s Jane? Is that—Oh my God. That’s Stephon’s wife’s name.
I think of all the tactics Arnold taught me during his visits. Morse code, tying proper knots, first aid. It’s like I was preparing to be captured all this time. My paranoia twists into clairvoyance all of a sudden. Too bad my body decides to freeze in every bad situation. It shouldn’t be called a fight or flight response. It should be fight or flight or sit there like a fucking idiot while bad things happen response.
“Are there any choices in the matter?” I ask, wondering if I could use the zipper of my jacket to stab him in the neck. Or maybe a hard hit to the temple. Every stupid thought makes him look that much more dangerous. He’s so confident sitting with his back to me, that I scold myself for even thinking about hurting him. He’s the type that will catch my fist and punish me afterward.
“I’m afraid we’re all connected to the same wheel of fate, Alessia.”
Chills run down my spine when he uses my name.
“I don’t know who the ring leader was, but I suspect it was Joseph.” His grip tightens around the wheel.
I’m scared all over again. He’s going to snap at any second.
“They found semen from all your old friends inside her. They shot her in the leg, in the arm, to let her bleed out slow,” Leandro says.
My heart sinks as the words match up with Joey’s gunshot wounds. He mirrored her death… yet offered mercy with a shot to the head. He’s… not as bad as them.
“Tell me, do you remember when all of the boys left you girls in the Poconos that day?”
I bite my lip, not wanting to think back to it. For one, I don’t want to trigger a cold, calculated murderer. Two, I don’t want to rethink how pathetic my life was. Me just sitting there, thinking the boys are having fun, while instead they’re destroying some innocent girl’s life. How could I be so blind?
His hawkish eye focuses on me again – making my whole body squirm.
“Tell me,” he whispers so low my blood runs cold.
“I—we—we were at the lodge.”
“Who.”
