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I let off three rounds that shatter the quiet of the house, only stopping when I hear his huge body crashing to the floor.
Is it over?
Dragging myself to my feet, I limp towards him with Frankie’s gun still outstretched. I’m shaking. I’m in shock. That moment of skepticism is creeping in again because something crazy and improbable just happened for the second time this week.
He’s not dead.
He’s lying on his back in a pool of his own blood that’s spreading rapidly. All his sin and poison is seeping out of him. I hit him in the chest. I also hit him in the neck. One hand is clutching at that wound, trying to knit the mangled flesh together, but we both know it’s too late.
I used to think there was only darkness crawling behind his jet-black irises. Now I’m seeing all the things he made me feel reflected back at me.
Disbelief.
Desperation.
Anger.
The baseball bat is still lying discarded next to his other hand. I tilt my head to consider it, and then I’m bending down to pick it up. He tries to speak, blowing red bubbles out of the corner of his mouth when he guesses my intentions.
Sliding the gun into the waistband of my jeans, I test the weight of the bat between my fingers. I try out a couple of swings. Each time the metal slices through the air, I can feel it ripping at the seams of my memory.
Bad and sad things come flooding out, of rapes and beatings, games and abuse. The fourteen years I was kept from Frankie, and the lifetime that I’ll never spend with my son.
I don’t know when I started crying, but my cheeks are wet again.
I breathe in freedom.
I breathe out fear.
Then, lifting the baseball bat high, I bring it down as hard as I can on his right knee, and while he’s still writhing in agony, I bring it down hard on his left.
CHAPTER 36
FRANKIE
“Get under the desk.” Bambi blinks at me. “I said, get the fuck under the desk.” Losing my patience, I pull her out of the chair and push her head down, feeling her resist, until her body finally crumples up into the small space. “Stay there until I come back for you, do you hear?”
I turn to leave and feel her hand on my leg.
“I don’t want you to go.”
Another burst of gunfire cuts through the yells and screams.
Fuck.“Bambi—”
“Frankie, I’m scared.” She looks really young again. Her pink hair is a mess. She’s only seen us inflict violence before. She’s never seen us on the receiving end of it.
Crouching down, I take her chin gently between my fingers, and force a steady tone. “Hey, I’m a villain, remember? We live for this shit.”
“Don’t die.”
“Not planning on it. But if I do, don’t chew gum at my funeral.”
Satisfied with a weak smile, I drop her face, and pull out my gun.
Outside, Nancy’s chair is empty. I’m taking that as her resignation letter, effective immediately. The hallway is empty too, but when I reach the gaming floor, it’s gunsmoke and chaos with upturned chairs, chips, and broken glasses strewn across my new carpet like confetti warfare.
Keeping just inside the doorframe and out of sight, I survey the damage. There are bodies lying everywhere, some dead, some trembling. Most of Viper’s men are those without a pulse, their weapons kicked out of reach, just in case they decide to make a movie comeback. Five others are on their knees by the main doors with their hands on their head.
