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She always opens her eyes for me. Those beautiful fucking eyes.
“You are nothing!” I drive my fist into his broken nose. “You’re a coward.” I rear it back and sock him again. “You do not deserve to touch her.”
I don’t know who I’m screaming at anymore. Me or him. It’s all just coming out in loud torrid rants and raves that course the anger inside through my limbs.
I feel his hot blood spit and splatter onto my face and soak through my shirt. But it’s not enough.
Jack can’t stand, but he’s still breathing. The coward is still breathing. Still dragging in each breath for another second on this earth.
And I don’t know if she’s okay. I don’t know if I’ll get to hear her voice again.
What if all that’s left is me? No Cassie. No Kit. No Wayne. Just me.
I drop him to the ground like the litter he is, and as he lies there, blood pouring from his face another bout of anger burns through me.
He’s still sputtering.
Why is he still going? Why?
I can’t have that. I can’t live with myself knowing that I let him live. I don’t care what that makes me. A monster. A criminal. The lowest of the low. I don’t even give a shit if it paints me with the same stripes as him.
I nudge his chin up with the tip of my shoe and just as I’m about to crush his windpipe, grind it like a snuffed cigarette under my sole, arms wrap around my chest and pull me away.
“Don’t do it, son.”
For a moment I think it’s Francis. He likes to call me son. But the voice is all wrong and he would never stop me from doing what needs to be done. He would never stop me from taking what belongs to me—retribution.
“I am not your son!” I free myself from his hold. “Nothing has changed. Nothing!”
He’s looking at me like he expected something different, but nothing changes all the things he did to my mother. No amount of good deeds or change in character will appease his past actions.
Scars can’t be erased with remorse. I carry my scars; he can carry his guilt. If he is capable of feeling it.
Right now, I don’t know whether I can trust my own perception and judgement.
“Nothing will ever change, but it’s the girl you want. Not him, he’s nobody. Unimportant.” His body turns to the car wreck and my eyes follow.
Francis is kicking the limo’s back door, like he’s trying to get it as open as possible. He looks like a mad man.
Freddie’s pacing with his phone to his ear. He has that cold look on his face that says he’s out for blood. His anger robes him like a dark cloak, and for once I don’t question why he’s like that.
My father’s right. It’s her I want out of this. It’s Cassie I need, but that doesn’t mean Jack gets to make it past tonight.
I pick up the gun I dropped earlier, and before I walk away, I give him the same fighting chance as my girl.
I watch as the bullet leaves a neat hole by the sleeve of his jacket. No bigger than my thumb, in exactly the same place as Cassie’s.
Wound for a wound.
Jack’s blue eyes flutter, the whites bloodshot, and I don’t know if it’s more blood or tears that roll down his temples into his bloodied blonde hair.
I don’t care.
Taking a deep breath, I stride to help Francis. He’s pulling at his hair as he steps out of the limo through the crack I wedged open earlier. Hands soaked in blood, he wipes them on his trousers before trying to pry the door open again.
“We need to get the door open, it’s jammed, I can’t get her out.” His words are so panicked that it comes out as a strangled yell. “Freddie’s called for help, but it’s taking too long.”
He beats the heal of his fingers against his forehead like he’s trying to shake a plan of action from his brain.
