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Ryker shrugs before tearing the tape from Eric’s face. He lets out a yelp of pain before begging, “Annie, please. You don’t understand how sorry I am for what I did to your mom. I’m not the man I used to be. I stopped drinking, and I don’t touch drugs anymore. I started anger management classes.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “See, I could almost believe the first two, but not that last bit. You’re trying too hard. No way would you ever admit you have a problem and do anything about it.”
I crouch down so we’re at eye-level. “Maybe now you know how she felt, even just a little. That fear, the pain. Not being able to predict what comes next. The way she used to walk around on eggshells. How she used to bend over backwards to make sure everything was the way you wanted it. All because she knew what would happen if she didn’t. And even then, you sick son of a bitch, most of the time it wouldn’t matter. You would find fault with something because you wanted to find fault. You would hurt her because you wanted to hurt her. What does it feel like now, knowing you have no control over the situation?”
“Please, please, Annie! Don’t I deserve a second chance?”
“You had your second chance!” I’m screaming, roaring, and it feels so good. So many years of carrying this around inside me, and I finally get to let it out. “You had years. Years lived in freedom. You should’ve been locked up, but you were allowed to go and do whatever you wanted to. You’ve already had the chance you denied my mother, so don’t bother with your pathetic begging.”
Hunter presses something against my palm. “Here. Do what you need to do.”
My fingers close around it an instant before I realize I’m holding a baseball bat. Aluminum, with nice heft. I pick it up, examine it, then tap it against my other palm.
Our eyes meet again, and something inside me screams in joy. He’s weeping openly, choking on his snot. “Annie, Annie, this isn’t you! You were always a gentle girl! A good girl! Your mother wouldn’t—”
It’s like the bat’s moving for me, swinging out and connecting with his shoulder before I even know what’s going to happen. He yelps, cringing as much as he can considering how much rope they have wrapped around him.
“Don’t you ever speak of her,” I hiss. “And don’t ever, ever tell me what she would and wouldn’t want. You don’t deserve to talk about her.”
And then I smile. Something about it turns his face into a mask of horror. It’s like something inside me snapped, and I don’t care. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to think twice about what you’re allowed to say much longer.”
And then, both hands on the bat, I take a swing. His scream only strengthens me, and every time I bring the bat down on his head, his face, his body, I see images flashing before my eyes. Images of Mom, the way he left her on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood. Again, again, until my arms are weak, and my shoulders burn and I can hardly breathe.
By the time the bat drops from my hand with a clatter that echoes through the empty space, I’m completely exhausted.
Completely alive.
Hunter gatherers me in his arms, and Ryker does the same. I rest my head against his shoulder, holding onto Hunter’s arms with my hands.
“Are you okay, Sugar?” Ryker whispers before pressing his lips against the side of my head.
Am I? I feel empty inside. Hollowed out. I got what I wanted, and I killed the man who took my world away. I watched him die, heard his screams until there were no more screams left. He suffered the way she did, the way he made me suffer for so long without her.
But I also feel peace. Calm.
“Yes. Yes, thanks to you two.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Hunter decides, and Ryker nods in agreement.
Maybe there’s something wrong with me feeling this way after killing someone, but that’s something I must deal with some other time. I can’t worry about it now. All I can do is be grateful for it.
