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“Do I need to check further for weapons, Masterson? Not that I’d mind, but you already have an unfair advantage.” Vic glances at me, his bald head shining under the spotlight that floods the yard. Vic thinks I’ll trip on this, that I’ll be too clouded to realize the truth and act on it. But I’m crystal clear on that account.
Marty is my enemy.
CHAPTER 3
I’m not blinded by emotion anymore. This little exercise is a means to an end. It gives me a chance to remove another obstacle from my path so that I can bring this entire house down and then I’ll hold Sean again. I realize there’s a disconnect there. If I bring the house down, the odds are that I’ll be trapped inside. Maybe I don’t need to touch Sean to say goodbye. Maybe I’ll wake up in hell, and I can say hello. Good things don’t happen to bad people, though. I can’t count on that. I need to say goodbye now, while I’m out here.
Vic tips his head toward Black. “Search her for weapons.”
Miss Black walks over, her cold stare meeting mine before she stops in front of me. Her lips form a straight red line as she lifts her hands and places them on my waist. Black runs her palms over me slowly, as if she enjoys touching my body and feeling the rise and fall of curvy flesh beneath her hand. That’s when something odd happens. Her eyes are locked on mine when her hand goes right over the knife on my inner thigh. She caresses it and then sweeps past the blade as if it weren’t there. She leans in close and brushes her lips to my ear, flicking out her tongue.
To everyone else, it looks like she’s screwing with me, playing mind games. A curtain of silky black hair falls forward, and she breathes a word of warning, before pulling away. “Stab his calf and run to the trees.”
I remain expressionless but wonder what the hell she has planned. When Black pulls away, she tucks the long strand of hair behind her ear, and I know that no one saw her whisper to me. They couldn’t with those shining locks obscuring the view. I glare at her, wondering which side she’s on. An answer rises in my mind. Black is on her side. She’s always on her side. Which means if she’s not Vic’s ally, she’s his enemy.
When Marty is stripped of his weapons and is standing in front of me, I lift my gaze. For a moment, I wonder if he’s armed too—if Vic left a weapon on him the way Black left the knife on me. I wouldn’t put it past him. My brother likes surprises.
Vic backs away from us as he spits out the rules. “I’d planned on killing her myself, Masterson, so if you don’t make Avery’s death a sight to be seen, an artistic display for me to witness, you’ll be dead before her corpse hits the ground. You know how I prefer long, drawn out suffering. Amuse me, Masterson, and I’ll never question your loyalty again.”
Marty nods once, curtly, but doesn’t speak. His eyes are locked on my face, jaw tense. Those long blonde eyelashes that once batted at me in laughter are attached to someone I don’t know. The man wearing black fatigues is not the flamboyant gay joker he initially presented to me the first day we met. He’s not the sweet man who held me while I cried. He’s a motherfucking coward that’s been hiding behind lies. He’s always been looking out for himself, no matter what he said. Having no emotion to cloud my judgment makes things easier. Marty is one more obstacle to remove from my path.
Vic turns to me and lightly taps the palms of his hands together, grinning. “Little sister, there’s no fucking way I’m letting you survive the night, but,” he lifts a finger and then continues, “if you destroy Masterson, I might consider a brief reprieve. I’ll postpone my previous plans for the evening.”
I don’t believe him. I ask flatly, “What’s the catch?”
“No catch, you just have to kill him in a way that pleases me. Make a splendid scene of this spectacular body for me to admire. That’s it.” Vic’s eyes rake over Marty like he’s an object of desire. I wonder if Vic changed his plans for the night because he wants to do unspeakable things to Marty’s dead body instead of mine.
I don’t care. How is that possible? Apathy isn’t impenetrable. There’s a weak spot somewhere, and it’ll sneak up on me from behind when I’m not expecting it. Can I trade Marty’s life for my own? There it is, the truth. The act that promises me an existence beyond tonight. If I felt anger or rage, it’d be easier to accept this challenge, but I feel devoid of everything. Thoughts flow smoothly as I consider my options and weigh Black’s suggestion against my desires.
The problem is that there’s no vengeance flowing through my veins. I don’t care that Marty betrayed me. His lies aren’t eating away at me. There’s no hatred rushing through me, making me want to do anything. Instead, I’m a walking corpse. I want to mourn, but there’s nothing there—no tears, no tight throat, and no semblance of the person I’d been. Hollowness consumes me.
Black’s eyes are on me, waiting for me to pull the knife, but I don’t. I stand there wondering if I’d rather die than fight back. If that’s the better choice. With no feelings to guide me, I don’t know what I want. Emotions are what spur people to action, to fight back, to want to survive. At the moment, I don’t want anything. No, that’s not true. I chance a glance out of the corner of my eye, back to the pool with that bloody water.
Vic takes Black by the arm, which she dislikes. Her eyes narrow to thin slits and cut his face when she looks at him. She growls, “Do not touch me.”
Vic chortles like she’s funny. “Always playing hard to get, are we? Come along, Razelleia, my dear. We have prime seats on the terrace.” Black’s eyes flash with anger at the use of her first name. She went to great lengths to keep that information hidden, and Vic is flaunting that he knows her secrets—all of them.
Vic points to a stone overhang on the second floor. There’s a wide sweeping staircase of gray stone that leads to the upper landing. Flower pots line the steps at the bottom, overflowing with blossoms. Black’s heel connects with the stone, making a tap-tap sound as she climbs. Vic bounces up in front of her. Two guards follow them up, and two remain at the foot of the staircase.
Before Marty can do anything, I act. It’s the only thing I want, and I don’t care if it gives him an advantage. I need to see Sean. I race past Marty and move quickly, planting one foot in front of the other, taking long strides toward the pool. The grassy lawn rushes past, and I’m almost there. I have to see Sean’s face. I need to say goodbye. The thought is covered in static, flickering like an old television screen. Everything will be fine once I do this. I can manage whatever comes if I have this moment. This fight is the first stepping stone on the path to the end.
Marty’s voice is soft, urgent. “Where are you going?”
I ignore him and hurry toward the floating bodies, breaking out into a full run. I hear voices drifting in the wind from above and the sound of metal scraping stone as Vic and Black move chairs.
I’m near the shadows of the pool house, about to walk across a stone path when Marty catches up with me. He grabs my elbow and jerks me toward him and barks, “Stop.”
His arm comes up around my neck while the other holds my waist tightly. His front is to my back, holding me firmly in place against his rock-hard body. I swing my arm backward and connect my elbow with his stomach. The impact is enough that he falters for a moment. I turn and look him in the face, in those brown eyes that were once so warm. My hand hovers over the knife below the hem of my skirt, ready to pull it out and do whatever I have to do. I know where I’ll aim and it won’t be his leg. Mel showed me, taught me where to strike to take someone out. If I do this, if I take a swing at Marty, I have to mean it. I can’t flash a weapon and then not use it. He’ll take it from me, and I won’t be able to stop him.
I glare at him. “Fuck off.”
Marty grabs my wrist as I turn toward Sean’s body again. I barely take a step when he hisses, “Listen. We have no time—”
I stop suddenly and turn, cutting him off, “Stop.”
Marty glances up at the balcony. Vic screams to his men to flush us out of the shadows by the pool house. Marty speaks quickly, grabbin
g me by the shoulders, “Avery, please—”
Vic is bellowing into the night, “You stupid fuckers. You can’t hide, and once they flush you out, you better fight or I won’t be so nice!” Vic is hanging over the edge of the stone railing. I can see him from the corner of the house. He can see us, but the shadows are still obscuring Marty.
“There are no excuses for what you’ve done,” I hiss. Vic’s men are coming, and if they get hold of me, this is over. I raise my knee to Marty’s nuts. He staggers back into the light, away from the edge of the tiny house.
There’s a slow clap from the balcony, and Vic crows with delight before he yells out, “Do it again! Castrate the motherfucker! Come on, Sis. Show that bastard what happens when you fuck with a Campone.”
Marty breathes, still bent at the waist. “Stay away from the pool. Go to the woods. Convincingly take me down and run to the trees.”
That was an odd thing to say. Distracted, I glance at the tree line and then back at Marty just as he rushes me. I’m knocked to the ground and land on my back, skidding across the grass. Asshole. Stop underestimating him!
The air rushes out of my lungs as I collide with the ground. My shoulder scrapes the corner of a stone. The large pieces of slate have rough edges nestled in the pale sand that forms a pleasantly curving path between the pool and the little house. My skin rips open, but I can hardly feel it. Red ribbons of blood flow down my pale arm and drip onto the grass.
