Wait. What? Margo was Tavilla’s daughter-in-law? We had his daughter-in-law working for us for a whole year? Shit.
‘At this point,’ Margo continued coolly, ‘I’ll kill you where you stand rather than risk his anger if you get away again. So do us all a favor. Extend Thorne’s life and your own by getting in the fucking boat.’
Gwyn’s eyes were watering, both from the pain radiating across her face and the gutting disappointment of losing her chance to help Thorne. But despite her blurred vision she could see that Margo’s gun was a .45 with a shiny silencer. The woman meant business. Gwyn drew a breath, then nodded, ignoring the stars still twinkling in front of her eyes.
‘Good choice,’ Margo mocked. She waited until Gwyn had climbed the small ladder into the boat, then followed her in. ‘Can you drive, Kat? I need to watch this bitch.’
Kathryn nodded. ‘I think so.’ She swallowed hard. ‘This . . . is pretty bad, Margo.’ Weakly she pointed at the yacht. ‘I hope I can get up the ladder.’
‘I’ll help you,’ Margo promised. ‘Tide’s just starting to go out, so there aren’t as many rungs to climb.’
Kathryn gripped the steering wheel, her jaw set in determination, and the launch started out toward the yacht. With its powerful motor, Gwyn could see the trip wouldn’t take long.
She watched the dock grow smaller and steeled her spine. She’d figure out another way. She’d get help for Thorne and Blake Segal. I will. I have to.
Once they reached the yacht, she didn’t fight Margo when it was time to climb on board. She’d bide her time, waiting for another opportunity to run. She’d expected it to happen before the launch left the dock, as soon as Margo put down her gun to apply a tourniquet to her sister’s arm, because Kathryn was still gushing blood. But Margo didn’t do that. Nor did she tend to her sister when they got to the yacht. After forcing Gwyn up the ladder, she climbed up herself, then extended her arm over the side, hauling Kathryn up.
Kathryn collapsed on the deck, her face whiter than snow. ‘What the fuck, Margo? That hurt like hell. You were supposed to help me, not drag me.’
Margo rose to her feet gracefully. Then casually shot her sister between the eyes.
Gwyn froze, gaping. ‘What the . . . Oh my God,’ she whispered. She lifted her eyes to Margo, shocked. ‘Why?’
‘Not your business,’ Margo snapped. ‘Now get down the stairs or I’ll do the same to you.’
Twenty-nine
Annapolis, Maryland,
Thursday 16 June, 6.05 P.M.
‘Go,’ Margo commanded, nudging Gwyn down the stairs into the hold and along a hall to an open door. Gwyn gasped. Thorne.
He was on his knees, his hands covered in blood. His face was pale, his blood-soaked shirt hanging open, displaying a half-dozen knife wounds. The wounds were deep enough to bleed but not deep enough to gush.
Deep enough to torture. Tavilla tortured Thorne. The bastard himself stood behind him, his gun to Thorne’s head.
Gwyn started to run to him, but Margo grabbed a handful of her hair to stop her. ‘Stay,’ she commanded, like Gwyn was a dog.
Thorne looked up and met her eyes, and Gwyn wanted to weep. He was in pain, so much pain. But fear mixed with the pain when he saw her, and he suddenly seemed defeated.
No. No, Thorne. It’s not over yet. She thought the words as hard as she could, hoping he’d somehow understand.
‘Ah, Margo,’ Tavilla said smoothly. ‘What do you have for me?’
‘I found her trying to escape. Kathryn didn’t do a very good job watching her.’
Tavilla frowned. ‘Where is Kathryn? She said she was bringing you back.’
‘She’s dead,’ Margo informed him conversationally, as if she were telling him that it was raining outside.
Tavilla’s mouth fell open. ‘What?’ he asked quietly.
She shrugged. ‘Bullet right between the eyes. She’s up on deck if you want to check.’
Tavilla continued to stare, a muscle in his cheek beginning to twitch. ‘Who did this?’
‘I did,’ Margo replied.
Gwyn’s gaze jerked away from Thorne’s in time to see Tavilla grow pale with shock. ‘You . . . I . . . I don’t understand, Margo.’
‘I know you don’t. But you need to.’ She shifted the gun away from Gwyn just long enough to shoot Tavilla in his right arm, before calmly returning the barrel to Gwyn’s temple. Tavilla looked down, both shocked and perplexed to see his weapon now on the floor. He fluttered his fingers helplessly, staring at his bleeding arm, then looked up at Margo.
‘Why?’ he asked, sounding sadly childlike.
Her laugh was bitter. ‘Because of Colin. All this time you’ve blamed Thorne for Colin going to prison, for Madeline dying when he was incarcerated, for Colin getting murdered in the prison yard. But it wasn’t Thorne’s fault. It was yours. You couldn’t let him have a normal life. You were going to have a son to carry on your name, your fucking legacy, no matter what Colin wanted. You pushed him to kill his best friend. You pushed him to do the thing that landed him in jail. And for what? To stir up trouble with another gang. Well, guess what. You’re going away. Forever. And I’ll carry on your damn legacy.’
‘I would have let you have it all,’ he said mournfully.
‘No, you wouldn’t. You’d have given it to Kathryn. You know, at the beginning, I didn’t want it. I just wanted Colin.’ Her voice broke. ‘I just wanted the two of us to have a normal life with our son. But you wouldn’t let Colin go. So now I’m taking it all.’
Gwyn locked eyes with Thorne. Then she looked at the gun Tavilla had dropped on the floor, about eight inches behind Thorne’s left foot. Thorne was fading fast, but he managed a slight nod.
Margo must have noticed it, because a sudden vicious pull on Gwyn’s hair made her cry out, her eyes watering once again. This time, however, she didn’t flash back to Evan. Keeping her gaze on Thorne’s, she blinked the moisture away as the barrel of the gun ground into her temple.
‘Kick the gun away,’ Margo commanded, maneuvering Gwyn by her hair until she was inches from Tavilla’s dropped gun. ‘Over there against the wall.’
No, no, no, Gwyn thought, mentally scrambling for a Plan B but coming up with nothing. She could only obey, kicking the gun where Margo had commanded.
‘Good girl,’ Margo said sarcastically. ‘Now, on the floor. On your face.’
‘Let go of my hair, and I will,’ Gwyn snapped, sucking in a gasp when Margo yanked it once more before shoving her away. She fell hard, landing on her stomach, able only to see Margo’s face and Tavilla’s back.
Thorne was all but hidden from her.
‘You,’ Tavilla breathed quietly to Margo. ‘You lied to me. You said that Brandenberg was dead, but you knew he wasn’t, didn’t you? You knew he’d come back. And the Brown woman. Bernice. You knew she wasn’t dead before using her name to lure Thorne out of his house.’
‘Brandenberg, yes. I knew about that. Ramirez never went after him and nobody died a fiery death. But the Brown woman really was a mistake. We knew that if she lived, she could be part of Thorne’s alibi – that he was rushing to save her when he was abducted. She really was supposed to be dead, because I knew her denying making the call would get all Thorne’s friends whipped up and searching for clues.’ She shook her head. ‘Patton simply fucked up and torched the wrong trailer.’
Margo leaned to one side, glancing into the room where Gwyn and Thorne had been held. ‘But it looks like Patton isn’t a problem any longer. I’d planned to kill him, but Mr Thorne saved me the trouble. In fact, all of your upper ranks are gone, Papa. You could thank Kathryn for that, pulling six of your top men off duty to go after these two. But you can’t, because she’s dead.’ Tavilla’s back went rigid, his right hand clenching into a fist at his side. ‘Now four of your top moneymakers are dead, one’s in custody, and the only one left is . . .’ She looked around, frowning. ‘Where is Brickman?’