I inch farther back into my hiding place, completely aware of Luther’s power.
He’s got the gun. He isn’t injured. He’s in control.
“I’m sorry, motherfucker, but you’re mistaken.”
A woman’s voice catches me off guard as she walks inside through the open glass doors.
She has to be the little fox.
She clutches a gun in her hands, her shoulders high and strong, her face hardened like a warrior’s. “Lower the weapon, Luther. Hand it over and this may not have to end badly.”
I need to help her. I have to stop hiding like a child and grab the gun I dropped. I can run. Sprint. Slide and snatch.
Luca glances over his shoulder at me and mouths, “Get back.”
I shake my head and jut my chin in the direction of my weapon.
“Get back,” he repeats, his arm reaching out to guide me into submission.
He ignores my plan—ignores me in general—as he creeps closer to the edge of our island hiding place and sneaks a peek around the cupboards.
“Don’t shoot, Nis,” Cole demands. “He won’t kill me.”
Luther won’t kill him? Is he kidding?
I fumble onto my haunches, preparing to make a run for salvation as Luther drawls out a pithy insult. I either want to die in a rain of bullets or be completely freed. I won’t sit by as the devil regains the upper hand so he can draw out my punishment for days.
Weeks.
Months.
I’m about to make a run for it when Luca lunges for me, his trunk of an arm tackling me around the waist to haul me back into him.
I fight his hold as he drags me between his legs, his thighs closing in around me, the knife clutched in his free hand.
“Quit it,” he growls low in my ear, his voice barely audible over the threats and demands being continuously flung around the armed standoff. “Cole needs to finish this. It’s his right. Otherwise I would’ve already done it myself.”
I shake my head, denying his words and the voices screaming in my skull.
My instincts demand I take action.
“Don’t be scared,” he whispers. “Trust me.”
I keep shaking my head, over and over, trying to drown out the mania.
I’m going to be tied to a table. I’ll be brutalized by anyone and everyone who enters Luther’s house.
“He’s safe, Anissa,” Luca speaks louder. “Give Cole your gun and let him finish this.”
I struggle to focus on the conversation. Who’s safe? Cole? Tobias?
Doesn’t Luca realize nobody is free from harm when Luther is armed?
I wiggle, attempting to break free of his strong hold but Luca grips me tighter, hugging my back to his chest.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “Just drown it out. This will be over soon.”
I try. I concentrate so hard on escaping to my mental sanctuary. I hide in silence, in darkness, and still the panic finds me.
Cole’s slurred words brush the edge of my consciousness.
The woman’s demands haunt me.
Then Luca speaks up. “I’m not hiding, asshole. I’m giving Cole space to finish this his way. And if he can’t, I’m on standby with a knife in my hand, ready and willing to slit your throat.”
There’s so much vehemence in his tone. A wealth of determined conviction.
I want to believe him.
I can picture this man sinking his blade into my enemy’s neck. But he won’t. He can’t.
Not when Luther always wins.
Evil. Always. Conquers.
Luca holds me tighter. I can’t stop fighting and I’m not sure if it’s because I want to escape his touch or I fear he’ll soon be killed if I don’t act.
It’s too much.
It’s all too much.
“Give him your gun.” Luca waves at the woman. “Let him finish this.”
No. No.
I rock harder, willing the madness away. Begging for my life to be over.
I can’t go back. I won’t.
The woman steps out of view and I sense a change in the air. The tension builds around us.
“Cole, I’m going to shoot,” she announces. “I can’t let him take another step.”
Luther must be close. Almost within range of the island counter.
Luca loosens his hold and slides out from behind me, his weapon at the ready, his body crouching lower as if preparing for battle.
I need to fight.
I can’t hide. I can’t show weakness. But that’s what my potential savior is asking of me—to remain vulnerable. To cower.
I slide back to the wall, bow my head and jam my fingers into my ears. It’s all I can do to stop myself from running for that gun when everything inside me is screaming to fight, fight, fight.
I rock on my haunches like a child. I pretend it’s only a matter of time before Luther is taken down, when in reality I know he’s seconds away from killing this woman… then his adult son… followed by the man at my side… then me.
“Stop. Luther. Stop,” she yells. “Release the gun or I’ll shoot.”
I can still hear her. The panic. The fear.
I rock harder. Faster.
“Cole?” the woman pleads.
I can feel Luther behind me. It’s as if he’s right there, peering down, the whole world entirely still. Only me and him. Power pitted against instability.
Pop.
I jerk backward at the sudden blast, my ears ringing, my head filling with static.
Luca rushes to his feet and I frantically scramble to follow, both of us joining the woman who stands tall, and Cole who is hunched on the tile, as we stare at Luther laid flat on the floor.
Blood seeps from his mouth as he gurgles and splutters, the gun remaining tight in his grip.
My tormentor continues to breathe, his chest rising and falling while the barrel of his weapon slowly edges its way toward his son.
He’s going to shoot. He’s going to—
Pop.
Pop.
I jump with the explosions.
Pop.
Pop.
Anissa keeps shooting, over and over until the wild bursts of noise resemble hollow clicks and the man who stole my life stares blankly ahead. Not breathing. Not blinking.
Dead.
I always anticipated blinding happiness when I fantasized about this moment. I thought I’d want to laugh. To dance. To celebrate.
None of the jubilation hits me.
There’s no bliss. Not even peace.
I’m still hollow.
Empty.
Until Tobias’s sweet voice calls from the hall. “Baba? Baba?”
7
Luca
I keep seeing her. The frantic rush across the room. The desperate way she scooped the kid into her arms and carried him into the hall.
I thought about nothing but Penny as Cole and I loaded the dead bodies onto Luther’s boat. I escorted those fuckers out to sea while Cole tailed me in another vessel.
It wasn’t hard to dispose of the evidence.
I weighed down the cadavers and threw them overboard, keeping watch until they sank from view. Then I gave Cole instructions on how to rig his father’s boat to drive unaided, because my head throbbed so much I couldn’t fucking do it myself.
Even now, as I clean my own blood off the living room wall, my brain protests every movement. It feels like I’m one sneeze away from an aneurism. Or a fucking stroke.