“What happened to him?”
Adrian dragged himself to his knees, head low as he stared at his hands, at the split knuckles and bits of teeth wedged under the skin.
“Adrian! What the hell happened?”
His gaze slid to the second guard, Olivet. He was on his belly, still crawling. Four feet away, Preston’s gun glinted in the dust. Adrian staggered to his feet and stepped on Olivet’s hand as it reached for the gun.
“He happened.” Adrian picked up the gun and pointed it at Preston. “William Preston.”
“That’s Preston? Jesus, Adrian. Why?”
“He was torturing Crybaby.”
“Torture? How? Wait. Never mind. No time for that. We need a hospital, and we need it now.” Elizabeth cradled the old man’s head. “It’s bad.” She leaned into his breath; could barely feel it on her cheek. “We need to go now.”
“Take him.”
Elizabeth looked at Preston. The face was broken a dozen different ways. Blood bubbled at his lips. He was unrecognizable. “What about him?”
“Call an ambulance. Let him die. I don’t care. He’s not riding with Crybaby.”
“Help me, then.” They got the old man in the backseat of Elizabeth’s car. His head lolled. He weighed less than a child. “Come with me.”
Olivet moved again, so Adrian put a foot on his neck. “I’m not finished here.”
“Adrian, please.”
“Go.”
“I don’t know what’s going on, but Faircloth needs a hospital, and he needs it now.”
“Go on, then.”
“We need to talk.”
“Fine. You know the old Texaco east of town? The one on Brambleberry Road?”
“Yes.”
“Meet me there.”
Elizabeth took a final look at the scene, at beams of yellow light and the two guards, down and broken. “Are they going to die?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Elizabeth struggled with the answer. Adrian seemed cold and untouchable and every bit a killer. He pointed the gun at Preston, and she hesitated: lawyer in the back, half-dead prison guard bubbling in the dust. Would Adrian do it? Pull the trigger? She honestly didn’t know.
“Time’s wasting, Liz.”
Shit.
He was right. Only the lawyer mattered. “Brambleberry Road,” she said. “Thirty minutes.”
Elizabeth reversed down the drive and sensed Adrian’s stillness as he watched her go. She braked at the tarmac and in a swirl of dust saw him dragging Olivet by the collar, over the gravel and into the gloom, heading for the same gray car.
She waited for a shot that didn’t come.
Behind her, the lawyer was dying.
*
Adrian propped Olivet against the front tire, just behind the burning lights. He was hurt, but nothing like Preston. That meant a broken orbital and bloody nose. Maybe a cracked rib, based on the way air whistled past his teeth. Adrian had seen worse, experienced worse. He put the muzzle against the guard’s heart and used just enough pressure to keep him upright. The man was crying.
“Please, don’t kill me.”
The words put an unfeeling twist on Adrian’s face. How many times had he begged, only to be cut again, beaten again? He thumbed the hammer and thought about blowing Olivet’s heart through an exit wound the size of a grapefruit.
“I have a daughter.”
“What?”
“A daughter. She’s only twelve.”
“That’s supposed to save you?”
“I’m all she has.”
“You should have thought about that before.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t.”
“You don’t know the warden. You don’t understand.”
“You don’t think I know the warden?” The night darkened as Adrian loomed above the guard. “His face. The sound of his voice.”
“Please don’t do this.”
“Were other prisoners killed? Others besides Eli Lawrence?”
“I’m sorry about the old man. He wasn’t supposed to die. None of it was supposed to be like this.”
“Yet, it is. You tortured Eli. You tortured me.”
“I did it for my daughter. We needed money. Child care. Medical stuff. I was going to do it just the once, one time, and that was it. But they wouldn’t let me go. The warden. Preston. You don’t think I have nightmares? That I hate my life? Please. She’s everything. She’ll be all alone.”
A girl. Twelve years old. Did that make a difference? After all he’d suffered, Adrian had two of the five men responsible and could cut the number to three. Preston dead. Olivet, too. That would leave the warden and Jacks and Woods. If he moved fast enough, he could kill them, too. Tonight. Tomorrow. Temptation was a burn, and though Eli chose this time to be silent, Adrian knew what Eli would say if he decided to speak.
Let the hate go, boy.
Freedom. Fresh air.
That’s enough.
It’s everything.