“NO!”
And it was in that moment the world fell from its axis and tumbled into nothingness. I only existed in a realm of blank space. I don’t know what happened next. I don’t remember the drive back to the hotel. I don’t remember going to bed. Nothing existed that night. I suppose the pain must’ve been so incredibly excruciating that I couldn’t tolerate it and all my senses seized. Maybe it was something greater that was sparing me of having to carry that memory around with me for a lifetime. Whatever it was that saved me from the horror of that night—thank you.
I SIT IN my car with my gun and watch Archer and his daughter on the beach. I’m far enough away from their cars, so they don’t take notice of me, but my eyes never leave them.
I’ve been anxious ever since I got the phone call on their new whereabouts, and that anxiety is at an all-time high now that I’m here. When someone does you wrong, it doesn’t simply disappear. It festers and marinates, growing like wildfire. I think of my brother who lost his freedom. He’s been sitting in prison for over a decade. His wife lost her husband. His children lost their father. My parents lost their son. It’s a ripple of destruction, and Archer will pay for all that he’s destroyed. But this isn’t my payback—it’s my brother’s.
As this little family reunion wraps up, I go ahead and pull my car out and wait down the street for Steve’s car to pass. It doesn’t take long for him to leave, and I cautiously trail behind him. Once we make it over to Gig Harbor, the traffic thins out. Winding through the heavily wooded backstreets, it’s go time.
I hammer my foot on the accelerator, and swerve across the double-lines. When my car evens up to his, I jerk the wheel and run him off the road into a ditch. In rapid-fire movements, I’m over to his car with my gun aimed on him.
“Open the fucking door.”
He does, begging, “Take whatever you want, but pl—”
“No talking.” I shove the muzzle to his forehead as he looks at me in horror. “This is vengeance for my brother. You ratted Carlos Montego out to the feds, and now he’s spending the rest of his life behind bars.” His eyes flinch when I mention my brother’s name. “He told me to kill you, but I’m going to give you a choice,” I tell him, fucking with him, because no matter what he says, he’s dying. “I know your daughter is here and staying at The Pearl’s Edge.”
“No, please don’t—”
“Choose. You die or she dies. You have five seconds.”
I pull the slide back and chamber a round when he pleads urgently, “Kill me. Don’t hurt my—”
BANG.
BANG.
I fire two shots into his head, and he falls lifelessly to the ground, maroon blood oozing out of him. Quickly holstering my gun, I look around, but there’s still not a car in sight. I grab him under his arms and drag his body out into the woods. The adrenaline pumping through my veins helps me move at a velocious rate. Tossing this fucker behind a pile of brush, I run back to my car and high-tail it out of there with the thrill of vengeance roiling through me.
It’s finished.
RAIN FALLS AGAINST the window, its particles alone and bleak, waiting to be joined by other raindrops. And once mended, they fall, trickling their way down the glass. I lie in bed on my side and watch this endless pattern repeat itself again and again. I’ve been up for a while—I don’t know how long, but long enough to notice the storm intensifying every few minutes or so.
The somber clouds hang like a veil—cloaked in the darkness of dysphoria. I know the sun is out there somewhere far, far away. She refuses to shine her light on me, but that’s okay. I don’t want it anyway. I’d rather drown in my misery than be ridiculed by resplendent radiance.
The weight of Declan’s arm as he drapes it over my hip alerts me to his rousing. A part of me is angry that he knew and didn’t tell me that yesterday would be the last time I saw my dad. But at the same time, I need him close and for there to be no animosity between us. He continues to prove to be the one man I can count on. He’s all I have left—again.
I roll onto my back, snug up against him, and watch him watching me.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp against the strain of my throat, an attestation of how much I probably screamed and cried last night.
“You slap hard.” His lips tick in a subtle grin, and then he shifts, saying more seriously, “Don’t you ever be sorry for how you feel. It’s okay.”