Page 146 of Lucky 14

Fine, I still have my gun. Shooting into the bottoms of the stalks, I yank some bamboo away.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and I look back to see Holland there, watching me. She looks concerned. Oakley is behind her, too, looking afraid.

“Are you hurt?” I bark, immediately worried, scanning to make sure Weston hasn’t gotten up.

Holland shakes her head. She doesn’t look hurt, but as soon as I take care of him, I’ll do a thorough check over her and Oakley, since Oakley seems important to her.

Ripping the bamboo the rest of the way off proves difficult, but I get them with jagged edges. Stalking back to Weston, who’s moaning and trying to army crawl away, I snatch him up by his shirt and start pulling him to the beach. He fights me so much I can’t grab my bamboo, but with every jerk of his body and with every sink of my feet into the sand, I feel a rush of adrenaline.

I’m winning this fight. He’s playing my game now.

I get Weston to the waterline and drop him down.

“Really?” Weston coughs out, laughing. “You were always too weak to take over for Dad. Too crazy.”

My chest tightens, and I clench my hand into a fist, slamming it down into his chest with a satisfying crunch. Cracking ribs doesn’t take much, and I do it again. Weston arches his back with a silent scream.

It knocks the wind out of him. Hopefully, I didn’t puncture a lung. That would be too quick a death for him.

There’s a shift of sound, and I look back to see Holland and Oakley drop the bamboo they’ve dragged here. Holland gives me a nod, the light of the rising sun caressing over her face and giving her the most beautiful look I’ve ever seen. For a second, I’m stunned, staring at her.

Then a spluttering wheezing comes from below me.

Right. Time to see if Weston can breathe underwater.

I stomp his head one more time and flip him on his stomach, chin in the wet sand. He’s too knocked around to fight too much, only lifts his head and tries to get up as a wave comes to bubble around his throat.

Oh yeah, I’ll take his arms too.

Instead of breaking it, I grab a piece of bamboo, jagged edges down. I raise it above my head and slam it down toward the back of Weston’s arm.

It makes contact with a squelch.

Weston jerks and screams, but I’m already raising it again, aiming to puncture the flesh. I do so, pinning his arm into the sand and twisting the bamboo to bury it deeper.

“Fuck, Jesus, it was a joke!” Weston’s voice is guttural. “Let me go, it was a fucking joke!”

I ignore him, aiming for the fleshy part of his torso right under his ribcage and beside his spine. The resulting scream as I slam the bamboo down reaches into the deep recesses of my memory, smoothing over my own screaming there. This piece takes a ton of hits, probably more than is prudent to keep him alive for days.

But that’s okay. I don’t need him alive for days. Just long enough to suffer.

I’m not sure how long it takes to pin him down with a few more stakes, one to the leg, and one to the groin, but Weston has stopped screaming, and the waves are lapping at his face enough that he has to pick it up.

Standing back, I survey my work. It feels…good. It feels almost peaceful. Only, it’s missing…I look back to see Holland and Oakley are sitting on the beach higher up. They haven’t left.

Slowly, I walk up there, and the closer I get, the more that feeling of something missing disappears. When I’m next to them, it’s like peace overtakes me like a blanket, exhaustion falling quickly in its wake.

I drop down beside them, sitting on the beach overlooking the ocean, and the offering I’ve left it.

No one says anything. There’s just the crash of waves, the hiss of the water as it pulls back into the ocean, and the crying of gulls.

The crackle of a walkie-talkie fills the silence. “Butt plug, come in, butt plug.”

The fatigue has my limbs gripped like a vise, and I don’t even try to answer.

Breaking the relative peace, my brother lets out a hoarse scream. I glance over at Holli to see if she’s uncomfortable.

She isn’t. She stares stony-faced at my brother.