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The overhead light is dimmed, but it still glints off the blades inside the box.
Dueling knives.
Antiques.
But sharp as hell.
I close the lid and reset the latch.
Lifting the box into my arms, I turn back to face my dad.
He holds my gaze, his eyes showing more life than I’ve seen since the morning everything changed.
His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
Then he gets out the final words I’ll ever hear him say.
“Make them pay, Hans.” His inhale is scratchy. “Make them suffer.”
* * *
I don’t havea funeral for my father, but I bury him next to his wife.
And when the paperwork is done and my bags are packed and in the trunk of my car, I walk back through the house one more time.
There’s nothing left here but misery and grief.
I stop in front of my sister’s bedroom, turning the handle and opening the door.
I don’t step into the room.
I don’t take any of her things.
That’s not who I am anymore.
But I do give her a silent promise.
I swear to her that I won’t stop until every one of the men responsible is dead.
Then I turn and head back down the hall. Back downstairs. Into the kitchen. I pull the stove out from the wall and finish loosening the gas line. With a final twist, I sever the line.
I don’t need the insurance money. As the sole survivor of the Eklund mining fortune, I don’t need another penny so long as I live. But I don’t need anyone coming after me for arson either. So I’m making it look as close to a faulty gas line as possible. People will be suspicious, but I’ll be long gone.
And if my sister isn’t coming home to her room, then no one will.
Next to the front door is the three-wick candle Freya picked out for our mom last Mother’s Day. Mom never lit it, claiming it was her favorite scent and wanting to have it forever.
I pull the book of matches I took from Comet out of my pocket.
As the flame crackles to life, I carefully light each wick.
The warm vanilla scent, Mom’s favorite, starts to fill the living room as I close the front door behind me.
That night, long after the flames are doused and the house is ruined, I kill a man for the first time.
Nineteen, with blood on my hands and my entire family gone, all I have left to live for is vengeance.
I flex my fingers around the hilt of the antique knife.
