“Zane,” I prompt. “Why?”
He threads his fingers together and leans forward. “Because we had a deal. And because I know what it feels like to lose a child. This is what you wanted, and I owed it to you to see it through to the end.” He glances away with a shake of his head. It’s a barely-there motion. A brief flicker that I’ve landed on some deeper truth he doesn’t want to reveal—something that pains him.
And then his meaning hits:He’s going to kill you.
The voice doesn’t sound like mine as it rushes through my head, but I know it’s true the moment I think it. He owed it to me to see it through to the end.My end.My entire body turns to a canvas of gooseflesh. Like Reed, I’m dangerous, too. I’m a loose end, and Zaneis a man who doesn’t leave loose ends. Not when it comes to his family. It’s why Reed is dead and why I’m next.
“Oh, fuck,” I whisper. “Please don’t do this.”
He pulls his lips between his teeth and looks away. “You saw my son shoot Reed.”
Not only shoot Reed,I think with a chill.I saw Sean kill him.Which makes me a witness.
“Zane, I won’t say anything. You have my word.”
He leans back and exhales, looking weary. “Bailey, I’ve been in this profession for a very long time. I’ve seen people do a lot of surprising things. But one thing that always holds true is this: People are unpredictable. They change their minds. Only the dead can truly keep a secret.”
Panic fills me. I need to find a way to get through to him, to convince him not to go through with this, but I can’t think of a single thing to say.
His face hardens. “Now, log in.”
I feel every drop of blood in my body drain into my feet. “No.”
He doesn’t take his eyes off me. “You will. You’re going to transfer that money. It’s just a matter of what I have to do to you first.”
Chapter 47
BAILEY
Zane doesn’t reply, just stands and crosses the room and retrieves a black velvet pouch from the kitchen counter. He returns and sits again, setting the pouch on his lap. It’s sleek and nondescript, the velvet soft and luxurious looking, but something about it sends a hard shiver racing from the tip of my head all the way to my toes.
“Would you be surprised to learn more prisoners of war died in Japan than in Germany during World War Two?” he asks.
The question leaves me spinning, my mouth dry.
“It’s true. Approximately one in four. Do you know why?”
I can’t speak, can only shake my head. I have no clue where he’s going with this.
“There were many reasons,” he continues. “Malnutrition for one. Disease for another. The soldiers were neglected when they were sick, or forced into labor. They often worked until they collapsed. If they did, they were left to rot.”
I swallow, my pulse thumps harder.
“My grandfather fought in World War Two. He was a pilot. His plane went down in the Sea of Japan. He was one of those prisoners. He never said a word about it, though. Anytime anyone mentioned the war, his face would go white. He’d shut down, conversation over.It was easy to forget he’d fought at all.” Zane pauses, his eyes never leaving mine. “But there was one time he talked about it. It was just the two of us. Me and my grandfather on a camping trip. He’d had a few drinks, and I gathered the courage to ask him about it.
“‘Zane,’ he’d said, ‘you don’t want to know.’
“‘I do,’ I’d said. ‘Tell me.’ So he did. The Japanese pulled him out of the water and shoved him into a cargo hold with a thousand other men. There wasn’t enough space for them all to lie down. It was boiling hot. No water. No air. They grew so thirsty they bit each other in an attempt to drink each other’s blood.”
My stomach turns at the description.
“A lot of men died on that ship. My grandfather didn’t. They put him to work in the mines. The things they did to him there were unspeakable. I don’t know how he survived. They tortured him. They beat him and broke his fingers. He lost over half of his teeth. But there was only one thing he said he’d rather die than face again.” His hand settles on the velvet pouch and my heart climbs my throat.
“Zane, whatever you’re thinking of doing … please, don’t.”
Time slows as he unties the ribbon and unrolls the pouch to reveal several metallic pins that look like oversized sewing needles. He pulls one free and rolls it between his fingers. “Did you also know the Imperial Japanese are credited with creating many forms of modern torture? One of their most effective devices in the camps was the use of bamboo splinters. They shoved them beneath the fingernails of the prisoners if they thought they had information. They thought my grandfather had information. It’s what they did to him.” His eyes click toward mine. “I don’t want to do this to you, Bailey. But I will. I’ll do it for Cora. Things will be so much easier for you if you just give me the money.”
I would. I’d happily give it to Zane to avoid this. My life means nothing to me anymore.
