Olive somehow managed to sniff up her sadness and nod bravely. “Okay. I’ll be good. Maybe Uncle Jeffrey will let me go home if I behave better.”
Gil vibrated with hate toward the man holding her captive. He couldn’t stop his boots crunching forward, taking him toward the gun aimed in his direction and his young daughter. “Jeffrey, please...for fuck’s sake, you have O. I’ll continue to paint and deliver on your demands. Just give me Olive. Let me take her home. Accept the trade.”
I winced at the urgency in his voice. The utmost dedication to his child while using me as collateral.
He’d already destroyed all my trust. Now, he destroyed all my hope.
Destroyed any hope that I was as important to him as Olive was. I was only valuable if I could be traded for what he truly wanted.
Once again, I wanted to hate.
I wanted to hate him and her and the man they called uncle.
But...no matter what he’d done to me—no matter the drugs he’d fed me and the bargains he begged for, I didn’t have the strength to hate.
Hate demanded such a lot. It needed energy and emotion and a deep, dark heat that burned. Mostly naked and shivering on the forest floor, I had no energy. I’d used up all my emotion. The only thing I felt was tired.
Tired and resigned and sad.
So, so sad.
I’d lost everything.
I thought I’d lost it the moment I couldn’t dance anymore.
But I’d been naïve.
A tattoo couldn’t fix this.
Scars couldn’t repair this.
This truly was the end.
I closed my eyes, willing the drugs to whisk me away.
But they didn’t. They kept me awake and at their mercy as Gil whispered, “O...I’m so fucking sorry.”
My eyelashes opened, filling my vision with his misery.
“I love you.” His lips turned down as he drank me in. His gaze travelled over my skin painted with his mark, my love left as his sacrifice. For the longest moment, he stared, pouring love and apology into me, and begging me to understand, all while knowing he’d lost me forever.
There was no coming back from this.
No way of repairing what was broken.
With the heaviest of nods and most reluctant acceptance, he blew Olive a kiss, gave me one last look, then turned and walked away.
He tripped as if exhausted. He stumbled as if wounded. He moved like a man who’d forfeited everything.
A cresting, debilitating wave of terror cracked my ribs, one by one. My lungs sipped air rather than inhaled it. Fear vised my skull with pressure. Grief mushroom clouded until it filled me.
I hadn’t had a panic attack since the first day I’d woken and found my body restricted by pins and pain.
I couldn’t afford to have one now.
Steadying my breathing, I kept my eyes locked on Gil as he slowly left us behind.
The crunch of his boots sounded as horrid as cannon fire.
The sniff of his sadness as damning as death.
As the night swallowed him, Jeffrey bent to speak to Olive, his voice just loud enough for my enjoyment too. “Daddy isn’t being a good boy these days.” He stroked her hair even as she squirmed to get away. “He’s not a very good painter anymore.” He tapped her on the nose. “You know what? I think we’ve had enough of boring old Popeye, don’t you?”
Olive gasped, clinging to Jeffrey’s arm. “He just needs some spinach—”
“No...he needs a harsher lesson.” He shook her off him, standing tall. He raised his hand, pointing the gun at Gil’s back.
Olive bounced on the spot, trying to grab his wrist. “No. Don’t—”
“Shush, he’ll hear you.” Jeffrey snatched her and wrapped his free hand around her mouth. “Be quiet, sweetheart.”
She moaned and mumbled behind his palm while he chuckled quietly, keeping his tone low so Gil would never know. “Let’s shoot him and say bye-bye.” He closed one eye, scoping out his prey. “Bye, pathetic nephew.”
It happened in slow motion.
I couldn’t believe he’d do it.
But then, it became real.
So unbelievably real.
No!
I opened my mouth to scream. To shout. To warn.
I jack-knifed as high as I could with rope and tiredness and yelled into the night. “Gil!”
But...just like before...it was too late.
The gunshot ripped my voice apart.
The bullet flashed through the dark.
Somewhere in the blackness, Gil grunted.
A vague shadow cartwheeled forward.
His arms flew backward.
Birds squawked.
Twigs snapped.
Death lodged in his spine.
Gil landed face first in the dirt.
“No!”
Oh, my God.
“No!” I rolled onto my stomach, trying to wriggle with my hands bound behind my back to get to him.
“Gil!”
I fought harder, the ropes slipping a little.
But strong fingers plucked me from the earth. Harsh breath slithered over my nape, and brute strength whipped me around to face him. “Hello again.”
I had no time for him. I didn’t care about him. He was nothing. No one.
“Gil!”
Looking over my shoulder, I willed him to be okay.
But...he didn’t get up.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t react.
“Daddy!” Olive tried to run past Jeffrey, only to be jerked to a stop by her jacket hood again.
“You two, fuck, you have some manners to learn.” Pulling a length of rope from his pocket, he managed to catch Olive’s flying fists and block his ears from her terrible screams as he tied her tight.
Slapping her cheek, he snarled, “Quiet. He’s dead. It’s over. I’m your father now.”
Olive just cried harder.
I had so many things I wanted to say.
So many curses to slur and promises to decree, but the awful, clinging sleep still hadn’t freed me entirely. I opened my mouth, but only tears fell.
He shot him.
He shot him!
“Gil...please wake up!”
Jeffrey slapped me, just as he’d slapped Olive. “You shut up, too.” Bending a little, he wedged his shoulder into my belly and hoisted me over his back. The air crushed out of my lungs. My ribcage bruised as he slung me like a carcass.
Jerking Olive forward, he looked back one last time at Gil’s corpse as he stole us away. “Say goodbye to that useless body painter. You won’t be seeing him again.”
Chapter Six
______________________________
Olin
-The Present-
HE’S GONE.
Gone.
Gone.
I didn’t dare voice the other word. The more permanent word.
Dead.
He’s dead.
He might not be.
I saw him fall.
I watched the bullet.
But I didn’t see the wound.
Didn’t see the blood.
Too far away to feel his pulse or check his breath.
Gone or dead...they were both the same.
The GPS tracker dug into my hip as I swung over Jeffrey’s shoulder. The bones of his arm burrowed into me, compounding agony on top of agony. If Gil was alive, I was grateful. If he was dead, I was distraught.
But it didn’t matter because I’d never see him again.