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Vic is clapping and shouting obscenities. There are no neighboring houses in earshot. Why run to the tree line? Black said the same thing. It’s not like I can jump the fence and get the hell out of here. What are they talking about?
I don’t have time to consider it. Another floodlight turns on, momentarily blinding Marty. I twist out from under him, and when he reaches for me, I grab a fist full of sand from between the rocks and throw it in his eyes. Marty swears and backs off, rubbing at his face, trying to get the sand out. He staggers to his feet.
A fist connects with my side before I can decide if Black and Marty are on the same team. Marty grabs me by the waist and growls as he throws me down. I fight back. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t think or plan, I act coldly and hit his weak spots. A shot to his nose with a backward blow of my elbow spatters blood across his cheek. I use that bone in my arm as if it were a weapon, hitting him the face, then the chest until Marty staggers back enough for me to go for the blade.
When I slip my fingers around the cold steel, Marty is there again, his arms wrapping around me, trying to pin me to the ground. My fingers are pulling the weapon out when his head butts against mine. The knife falls from my grip and bounces into the grass out of reach. I slam my hand against the ground, searching for it.
Marty is speaking frantically, as he pulls my hair, his face contorted with rage, “Avery—”
My hand lands on something cold. I pluck it from the earth, making Marty stop mid-sentence, and swing. When the blade connects, he gasps and staggers back. When Marty looks down at his wound, and then at the hilt of the blade still in my hand, his lips part. The weapon is still in Marty’s side as his hot blood pours over my skin. The powerful man suddenly weakens, falling to his knees beside me. His face crumples as he tries to regain his footing, but can’t.
Those dark eyes look up at me. “I’m sorry. For everything. Get the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER 4
Mercy swells from within me. Conflicting memories slam together in my mind—the way Marty defended me, saved me from the car crash and hid me on Oak Island. Those were lies; deceit intended to throw me off. It worked. I never knew which side he was playing for but now I know—it was for Vic.
My plan to leave Marty bleeding out on the lawn crumples and I throw it away. Instead of walking away, I crouch next to him and get down close to his face. I put my hand on his wound and press. Marty falls to the ground and howls. An eerily chipper version of the screech echoes from the balcony.
Vic is leaning back in his chaise lounge and slaps Black on the shoulder. “I told you she was a nasty little cunt. And you didn’t think she had it in her.” Vic grunts and then folds his arms across his chest and cranes his neck forward to see what’s next. He cups his hands to his mouth as if I couldn’t hear him and shouts, “Make me proud, Sis!”
My life for Marty’s. I’ll see the sunrise and he won’t. If I live that long, I’ll have an opportunity to free Mel. I need to know where they took her. I spit the words out between my teeth, “Where is Mel? Did you kill her too?”
Between gasps of pain, he breathes, “No. You need to run for the trees. Mel can take care of herself. Please, Avery. Listen to me. If you can get to the trees, you’ll be safe.”
Liar. I stand and pull away from him. Marty is curled on his side, cradling the wound. Looking down at him, I remember pancakes, stories, and those larger than life costumes. Which version of Marty is real? Does it matter?
Standing over him, I hiss, “Everything about you is a lie. Why should I believe you now?”
“Because I traded my life for yours.” Marty closes his eyes as his jaw clenches tight, trying to endure the pain. “Finish this and get the fuck out of here.”
Finish this? He wants me to kill him? That was the deal, my life for his. This is the second time he’s said it, told me to take his life.
Marty doesn’t look at me. His eyes are shut tight as he grapples with the pain. “Fuck, Avery. Even if you don’t believe me, stay away from the pool and kill me.”
I watch him writhe for a moment and confess, “I didn’t twist the knife.” Mel told me that it would do more than make a man fall. It would bleed faster, and the assailant would be nearly impossible to save. I had the chance. I could have done it, but I didn’t.
Marty’s eyes flash open, pure fear shining back at me. “Avery, please. Don’t leave me like this. End it before it’s too late...” His voice fades to a whisper as he grits his teeth to keep from crying out.
The moment passes too quickly. I never heard Vic approach. He is there, flanked by two thick men with necks like tree trunks. They have no expression on their faces, and their eyes are dead. Marty glances up at me, then his eyes land on Vic. Terror fills them in an instant. I can’t do this to Marty, but before I have the opportunity, Vic is here. His movement and all its gusto make me think he’s happy, that he’ll give Marty a chance.
I don’t see it coming. Vic swoops down, and there’s a flash of silver as he swipes a blade across Marty’s stomach. There’s a deafening scream followed by the sound of Vic’s crowing. He leans down and whispers something to Marty that I can’t hear. Marty writhes on the ground, his hands trying to hold his torso together, but failing. Blood is everywhere, pouring from Marty’s prone body and staining the stone.
Marty’s face is white and covered in beads of sweat. With every panting breath, agony sweeps across his features. He meets my gaze for half a moment, and I swear that I can still hear his voice, begging me to kill him. The knife is still in my palm.
Vic kicks Marty in the side before standing erect and placing his hands behind his back. Rising up on the balls of his feet, gleefully, he preens, “Although I applaud your method of a slow, painful death, no one has that kind of time, dear sister. That would have taken days where as a stomach wound like this,” he shrugs and glances aside, looking at the mansion, “he’ll be dead in a matter of hours. It’s long enough to think about what a dumb fuck he’s been.”
A cold void wraps around me like a blanket. I should care. I should be horrified. Instead, I’m drowning in logic, remembering everything the man dying at my feet has done for me. Whether I like it or not, I owe him a favor. This action constitutes a repayment even though it’s despicable.
Vic senses my coldness and admires it. His approving look lingers on me before he claps his hands together as if ticking off another thing on his to-do list.
Forgiveness is foreign to me, but the methodical nature of courtesy is singing in my mind. I owe Marty. I can’t leav
e him in agony, not when I can stop it. The movement is so quick, so unexpected that no one stops me. I lunge, knife ready, firm in my grip and slice Marty’s neck ear to ear. I’m sprayed with hot blood as more of it leaks from his pale neck. His eyes meet mine one last time before they see no more.
I stand over Marty, holding his lifeless stare. I know I have a knife in my hand and that I did this to him. I know his blood covers my forearm and is splattered across my chest, but I can’t feel it. There’s a difference between knowing and feeling. I can’t look away even though Marty is gone.
There’s complete silence. Vic glares at me, fists clenching and unclenching. I ruined his fun. Good. He’s a sick fucker.
The man lying at my feet is gone. I’m the one who took his life. A favor for a favor. How could I be so cold? Why didn’t this tear me apart inside?
Because there’s nothing left of you, a sharp voice should answer, but my only response is more silence. There’s no consciousness telling me to feel guilt, shame, or sorrow. That part of me is horrifically absent.
Vic’s face is turning red as he stands there, seething with his jaw locked. His men are still frozen in place and waiting for a command.
I glance at the pool again. The water is calling to me, telling me something. It says that I need to look and see for myself. It tells me not to walk away. I start walking toward the pool. It’s only a few paces away, and when I’m at the edge, I stare down at the brown haired man floating with his face in the crimson stained water.
Vic is behind me a moment later, suddenly placid again. The man needs better meds. He flips from seething hatred to chipper way too fast. Is that what’s in store for me? I never knew my biological father. What if my fate is the same? If I manage to live through this, my future is already cast. There’s no way to recover from the things I’ve done, from the woman I’ve become.
