Page 145 of Lucky 14

He looks older, but he has that same mean look in his eyes. That same jawline and heavy eyebrows. He has Catwoman by the throat, a gun to her head, the moonlight shining down on them, making her hair look white.

White like Krypto.

“You played the game, and you lost.” Weston is sneering at me on the ground.

It’s happening again. Weston will hurt Catwoman like he did Krypto.

And suddenly, I’m angry. The monster doesn’t get to hurt my superheroes.

As I focus in, I feel Superman’s strength flowing through me. I feel The Joker’s voice in my head, cackling about how pretty Weston’s blood will look decorating the trees behind him. Catwoman looks at me, her eyes full of the same anger I feel.

She drops down, falling on her butt.

Weston has to scramble to catch her. And when he does, I raise the gun, point it at him, and fire.

This is my game. My rules.

And in my game, I win every time.

CHAPTER SEVENTY

Day 14

There’s an explosion of sound, concussing my eardrums while my nose is hit with the hot smell of gunpowder.

A gun. I just shot a gun.

I blink into reality, and I’m in a patch of bamboo, the crashing of waves behind me, and before me is Weston, crouched over with a gun in his hand. He doesn’t look hurt. Did I shoot and miss?

Weston raises the gun in his hand, and I look to see where he’s pointing it, and my heart stops.

Holli.

Holli is here, and Weston is trying to kill her. Hatred burns in my chest and tightens it as I jump toward him, slamming the butt of my gun into his forehead hard enough that I hear a crack. How fucking dare he? How dare he?? He ruined my life as a child, and now he wants to take Holland’s life too?

Weston crumples, dropping his gun, and I kick it into the woods.

Holland is mine. I know it with a certainty deep down in my chest, and I’ll never let anyone have her.

I crash my foot down on Weston’s skull. My boot thuds against it, knocking him all the way to the ground, where he lies there for a moment, mouth opening and closing. And for a moment, he looks old. My brother, with the age lines around those eyes that used to look at me with such hatred, the leathery skin from all those days in the sun chasing me down. I’m hit with a memory that doesn’t feel like mine, but I recognize the players. Dad on the porch, looking at me in the dark with his gun. Then I see Weston in the chicken coop with a twisted smile on his face. I see Dad again, screaming at me. For some reason, I’m wet and shivering, and it’s hard to breathe.

A groan breaks me into reality again. Weston is moving, climbing to his hands and knees.

I slam my foot down on his head again, stunning him. Freezing him in that moment between confusion and action, where the pain is bouncing around inside his skull.

In that moment, I feel the memories in me stir. Those memories never had this moment. Never saw Dad or Weston like this. I never saw them like this either.

And it feels…good.

Suddenly, a plan fills my mind with such clarity that it makes all the distant memories in my head still.

I’m going to get us vengeance. Me and my memories.

As soon as I think it, an overwhelming calm fills my mind, and I get to work. First order of business is to break Weston’s legs. I roll him on his back, and slurred curses come out of his mouth as he raises his hands to defend his face, but that’s not what I’m going for. I slam my foot down on his knee with a satisfying crunch, bending it the opposite way than it’s supposed to go.

There’s a scream, and he curls into the fetal position, making it harder for me to get to his other leg. That sends a pulse of annoyance through me, but no matter. Stalking to the bamboo, I pat my belt for my knife.

No knife.