Page 77 of Lucky 14

When I have her secured, I expect that horrendous rush in my ears to go down. I wait, chest heaving, while I hold down her tiny, traitorous, thrashing body. It’s now that I realize that Holland is doing more than screaming. She’s spitting obscenities and threats at me.

“I’ll kill you. I’ll fucking kill you!” Those fiery blue eyes are staring up at me in hatred so strong I can almost taste it. “Get the fuck off me, I’ll fucking slit your throat.”

Almost on instinct, I back off of her. As if staying there will morph her into the mutilated fox from all those years ago. That same frantic humming is in my veins, and as Holland struggles, I picture her slamming her head against the nightstand, skin splitting open and blood going everywhere, soaking down to the box spring.

No.

Snatching up another pair of zip ties, I grab her feet and tie them together.

“Let me go!”

I have to hold myself back from obeying. Normally, when a woman is below me, she’s telling me what to do, and I’m fucking listening.

But this isn’t normal.

Bending her at the knees, I hogtie her hands to her feet to restrict her movement. Snatching a pillow, I jam it between the bed and nightstand. Only then do I stand back, surveying my work, heart racing.

Holland’s breathing is fast, her chest rising and falling quickly, much like an animal.

Slowly, reality settles back in like a welcome friend.

She’s working with my brother.

The thought of my brother only makes my heart race more until I feel like I can’t breathe, and I dart to the bathroom, cranking the hot water on and sticking my hands under it.

That was then, this is now. I’m in control. He’s playing my game. The roles are reversed.

Looking up in the mirror, I don’t look like me. This version of me is older, with tattoos covering my skin, scars all over, and lines around my eyes. But there is one thing that’s the same, and it’s the cold hatred lurking in the depths of my eyes. The hatred that kept me alive.

Slowly, my heart rate lowers, and I can start to feel the burn of the water against my skin.

I’m in control. I have my brother’s fox, and this time I’m going to win.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Day 5

That goddamn tightness is back in my chest, lingering around the edges, taunting me. Reminding me how peaceful drowning in nothingness could be.

Instead, I take another draw of liquor. It burns going down, the pain mocking me. Reminding me I’m still alive.

You’ve failed Nellie.

I take another swig. I can’t remember the last time I was sober. Usually, my vices help muffle the accusing voices. Now they’re just making things worse.

I stare at the jagged tree that’s fallen into the sunroom. I discovered it earlier while tripping balls, and it felt…ominous. It’s overcast today, the dim lighting casting the room in gray, the wind howling through the hole in the roof, and the gulls screaming their mournful tune. Like an omen that the universe is pissed, and all good things will come to an end.

It’s horrible, but still I stay rooted here, unable to shake the feeling that I deserve this, inhaling lungfuls of my vape like it can clog the hole in my sinking ship.

“Ky!”

Blinking slowly, I turn. Only people who know me are allowed to call me that. In fact, they don’t usually dare to use my name, picking nods of respect or addressing me as ‘sir.’ They know I do the things around here that no one else wants to do. Like kicking players off the island…and then into the ocean if that’s what the boss wants. Then I drink till I forget.

I turn to see Oakley striding into the room, face red.

The vise around my chest loosens a fraction. “Oakley.”

He storms up to me, gripping the shirt on my chest and yanking me to him. Surprised, I stumble into his body, the contact lighting up my nerve endings and making them sing.