“I’m twenty-six years old! I’ve been an adult for a long time, Daddy. And this is not the way of the world. It’s the way of your fucked-up, evil world, and I want no part in it.”
“How do you think you would have survived without the money I make from my businesses here? Do you think you would have had such fine things if I were a fisherman, or a carpenter?”
“I don’t care about fine things. I care about honor, and kindness. And I would gladly have starved to death before exploiting another human being for my own gain!” She’s crying, a river of tears rolling down her cheeks. Her backbone is straight, though, her chin held high. She’s finally facing him, and I am so damned proud. She needs this. No matter what happens next, even if we both die, she will die in the knowledge that she spoke her mind and stood up to him. Fernando doesn’t seem to like his daughter’s new attitude, however.
“You’re an ungrateful, spoiled little bitch,” he hisses. “I have given you everything, and you’re tossing it away for what? A man? He is no good for you, Natalia. He is the dirt beneath your feet. This is why I must protect you. This is why I must prevent you from making mistakes.”
“You are the dirt beneath my feet. You are the black taint that marks my soul! You’re a murderer and a psychopath. You’re going to hell for what you’ve done.”
The prospect of hell doesn’t seem to bother Fernando. Or the fact that his daughter has turned against him. He must have expected it at the end of the day; he must have known that eventually it would come to this. “Hell is of no concern to me,” he says. “My only concern is you.”
“Bullshit! You sold your soul for power.”
Fernando steps forward, a look of pure fury in his eyes. “Don’t you raise your voice to me, child. I will cut your tongue out of your head.” This, given what he did to Ocho, is no threat. Natalia pales.
“You won’t. This is it for you, Father. This is the night you die. Don’t you see that?”
He jerks back, confusion on his face. “Why? Because my house is in ruins? My guests are all dead, or gone? Or…” His eyes flicker to me. “Do you propose this man will kill me?”
“Of course I’m going to kill you,” I say wearily. “You’re a grade A cunt. I’m actually really looking forward to it.”
“And you think she will still love you if you murder her father? You think she won’t see my death every time she looks into your eyes?”
“You don’t know your daughter, Fernando. You don’t know her at all.”
I run at him. I’m not going to wait for him to make the first move. Fuck that. It takes all of a second for me to reach him, but it’s a second that Fernando has time to prepare. I’m waiting for him to raise his hammer, but he doesn’t. He reaches behind himself, and suddenly there’s a gun in his hand.
I’m sure there’s an old adage about this. Never bring a knife to a gunfight? Well, in this instance, the adage still holds up; an axe in a gunfight is just as useless. Fernando doesn’t waste any more time. He fires the gun, and an explosion of sound rings around the inside of the shed. He misses me, but only just.
Natalia screams as he aims again. This time I’m so close that he can’t miss. Still I heft the axe upward, swinging it over my head. He’ll have to kill me with this bullet, otherwise I’ll keep coming. Nothing but a headshot will prevent me from planting this honed slice of metal into his body.
The steel sings as it cuts through the air. Fernando leaps back, dodging the first cut. He shoots at the same time, and the bullet hits me in the shoulder. The impact nearly knocks me off my feet. It feels like a drop of molten lava has landed on my skin, and the liquid metal and rock is burning its way through me, tearing me apart from the inside out. It hurts like a motherfucker, but I know what to expect. This is not the first time I’ve been shot. I’m sure it won’t be the last either. My left arm is going numb. Thankfully my right arm is still in perfect working order, though. I lift the axe, determined to finish this.
Fernando grins savagely, raising his eyebrows. “You’re a brave man, Cade Preston. But I told you what I do to dogs who attack my family, did I not?” He shrugs almost apologetically. “I gave you Kechu’s name. I suppose we both should have known how this story ends.”