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“The moment I don’t call in with my boys, they’ll have their fun with her.” I swallow the bile in my throat as he concludes, “Then they’ll carve her up and bury her, piece by piece, where no one will ever find her.”
“You’re sick.”
Phil shrugs like it takes no fucking genius to figure that out.
“Call them off!”
“No chance in hell.” He laughs, shaking his head.
“Call them off!” I scream, lunging toward him and pressing the barrel to his temple.
“I don’t think so.”
I smack him across the face with the butt of my gun, refusing to stand silent to his insults a second longer.
“Oh, you’re going to pay for that,” he grunts, blood trickling from the wound to his temple.
“It’ll be worth it to see you dead.” I lightly adjust my finger on the trigger, ready to blow his brains all over the pristine wall.
My plans to allow him to live have just been made redundant. I would much rather figure out another way to prove our innocence and save Abi than have this motherfucker take another breath.
“Mia, no!” Cynthia yells, halting my movements.
“Please don’t tell me you feel anything for this asshole,” I spit, my eyes never wavering from Phil’s.
“No, of course not, but you can’t do that here. It’ll ruin Chandler,” she sobs, pleading I listen.
I have Hank’s murderer within my grasp, and all she cares about is her fucking husband.
However, my voice of reason taps me on the shoulder by wrapping a warm hand around the gun I’m shakily holding.
“She’s right, Red. They’ll know it’s us. It’ll get complicated and sticky for all of us.” Quinn never forces my hand, only providing the support I so desperately need.
I want to scream at Quinn, reminding him that this was our plan from the very beginning—to kill Phil and Thomas.
Yes, when the original plan was set in motion, it was going to be done so anonymously, tying us in no way to their murder. But now, everything has changed, and I know he’s right.
When on the run, it was so much easier to orchestrate a plan where my dad and Phil ended up dead. But here and now, things are so different. Their dead bodies will lead directly to us, and it’s not only Quinn and me who will pay the price, but rather, everyone in this room, in this house, will be a suspect.
It’s all so complicated, and that’s why Phil chose tonight. It’s the perfect time to strike.
When we do this, it can’t be in a house full of witnesses, who have already most likely heard the commotion and stray gunshot upstairs, which, when I turn, I see is embedded in Cynthia’s leg.
“Oh my God, you got shot!” I cry, only just resisting the urge to go over and see if she’s okay.
“It’s just a flesh wound. I’m fine,” she says, holding her hand over her bleeding thigh.
I suddenly become aware of my surroundings. My need for vengeance has blinded me to the people around me, and I hate that I allowed my humanity to slip.
Polly sits in the corner with her gun laid by her feet, white as a ghost. She has her legs drawn up to her chest and sits rocking, backward and forward, with her eyes closed. She hums an indistinguishable tune, but the harmony does nothing to conceal her fear.
My heart breaks because a sixteen-year-old doesn’t need to see this.
Just because this is my normal, and this is my world, I tend to forget this is far from being normal for others. I’ve just taken away Polly’s innocence, and for that, I will never forgive myself.
“Let’s go,” Quinn murmurs, and I turn, confused about where we should go.
“Go?” I question. “What about them?”
