by Skye Darrel
At the end of the cave stands Hoyt Dunkel holding a pistol aimed at a girl huddled against the far wall.
Wild matted hair frames her face so I can’t see her features clearly. Her clothes look worn and tattered. The light we saw outside comes from a camping lantern sitting by her legs.
“Priscilla?” I whisper.
Asher shakes his head. “No. My sister is gone.” He sounds almost relieved. “But I have an idea who she is.”
Me too.
“Maral Swann?” I call out.
She starts to get up before Dunkel waves his revolver. Swann’s eyes dart between the men before they settle on me, pleading for help. She doesn’t speak.
“Put that down, Chief,” Asher says.
“I think not.”
Asher takes one step forward, his rifle trained on the man. “You broke into Rene’s apartment?”
“Had to find the Swan,” Dunkel says shakily. “Desperate times call for drastic measures.” He laughs. “Had a hunch she’s still alive. All this time she was right under my nose.”
“Put down the revolver, Hoyt. Then we can talk.”
“Too late for talking.” The hand holding his weapon steadies. “I didn’t mean for Priscilla to die, but your sister brought it on herself. She should’ve stayed out of it, all of it.”
“We can talk about this,” Asher says. “No one is beyond saving. Not even you.”
Dunkel chuckles and I can almost see his sanity breaking.
“Saving? I don’t need you to save me. You always were a troublemaker, Asher Wade. You had to dig. You think the truth will bring your sister back? And you, missy, you should’ve never come to this town.”
Asher’s finger is on the trigger. “I’ll give you to the count of five,” he says.
Dunkel’s revolver is still aimed at Swann’s head.
I’m about to take a step forward, thinking I can convince the chief to surrender. If I can sell houses, I can talk down a man with a gun. I’m the only female present beside Swann and I see the damaged look in her eyes, the instinctive fear, and I have some idea of what she’d been through. I want to protect her.
Rising to her knees, the girl stares at me and her mouth opens, but no words come out. I realize too late she’s staring past my shoulder.
A hard point prods my back. “Easy, darling. That’s my knife you feel.”
The voice of Titus Quinton ices my blood.
I catch Asher’s pivot in the corner of my eye, his rifle turning, but it’s too late.
My gaze stays on Swann.
She reaches out with a single hand, as if to help me, before Dunkel whips her head with the butt of his pistol. With a cry she topples sideways, the chief standing over her, revolver pointed at her head.
“Surprised?” Titus says in my ear. “I’ve been following Wade’s Mustang all night. Tsk, tsk. He got sloppy. Your fault, darling. You made his heart soft and a man gets sloppy when his heart goes soft.”
I turn my head slowly, the knife in my lower back digging harder as Titus uses me as a shield against Asher.
“Wade! Put your weapon on the ground and kick it away. Or your pretty lover here’s gonna lose her kidneys.”
Asher does, then raises his hands. “Let her go.”
“I’m about to,” Titus says. “Hoyt! Search them.”
Dunkel’s face tics as he pats me down and looks through my bag. He smashes my phone on the ground. The pepper spray he tosses away. Only when he takes my notebook do I yell stop. He glares at me, flipping through the pages.
“They’re just my drawings!” I shout.
“Shut your mouth,” Titus says.
Asher clenches his jaw and shakes his head at me.
I press my lips together.
Dunkel snaps my notebook shut, sneers, then tucks it into my bag again. He lets me keep the bag at least. He goes through Asher’s backpack next and smashes anything we can use to contact the outside world.
“They’re clean,” he tells Titus.
“Escort Ms. Whipple to Wade’s house. Verne’s waiting there. You think you can handle that without fucking it up?”
“I want her dead,” Dunkel says, jerking his head at Maral Swann.
“I’ll see to it.”
Dunkel shoves the muzzle of his revolver into my ribs. “Let’s go, missy. It’s not your lucky night.”
I turn around, and the last thing I see before Dunkel shoves me outside is the rage simmering in Asher’s eyes.
29
Once Upon a Time
Asher
I watch the night swallow my girl, Dunkel at her back with that revolver, and I bite down my emotions and clear my head. I need to focus. One step at a time. I’ll find my way back to her if it’s the last thing I do.
My anger is not my own, I repeat Sheppard’s old advice in my thoughts, but the words are hollow.
He’d be raging himself in my shoes.
Titus keeps a good grip on his handgun, and the ivory-hilted knife in his other hand gleams from the lamp’s light. He bends over Swann, pats her hair. He pokes her neck with the knife, and I step forward before he levels the gun at my guts.
“Tsk, tsk.”
“Don’t touch her.”
“Relax, Wade. Take it easy.”
He hauls Swann to a sitting position and shakes his head. “She was a beauty two years ago. Now look at her. A washed-up whore.”
I take another step closer.
Titus raises his gun at my face. “You really have a death wish, Wade. Move again and I’ll kill you where you stand. The only fucking reason you’re still breathing is because of Resnik. He ordered me to talk some sense into you. Let you hear our side of the story. He’s gambling you’ll join him. He has a soft spot for you, Wade. From the good ole’ days. You also have skills he would pay handsomely for.”
“He’s too kind.”
“That’s what I said.”
Gotta keep Titus talking. Lucky for me he’s a man who likes the sound of his own voice. “You working with cops? Never thought you’d stoop so low.”
Titus cackles and uses the knife to tip up the front of his cowboy hat. I see his eyes clearly and they brim with joy. He’s having the time of his life.
“Hoyt ain’t no cop. That badge of his is a piece of metal. He’s a crooked motherfucker, but the thing is, Wade, he’s our crooked motherfucker.”
“He said Resnik blackmailed him.”
Titus snorts. “We didn’t blackmail him. He came to us, wanted to feast his eyes on some fresh cunny, Swann over here. We told him the VIP Lounge has rules. Look, but do not touch. You would think a lawman understands rules.”
“He touched her?”
“Dunkel did more than touch. He dragged our innocent Swann to a back room and took the whole package. He put his pecker in her. By the time security pulled him off, he’d already damaged the goods. That’s called stealing. No one steals from the casino.”
Titus twirls the knife in his hand. “I would’ve cut his nuts off, but Resnik saw the benefits of having Chief Dunkel beholden to our forgiveness. Verne has such foresight. That’s why he’s boss.”
“Dunkel’s been working for you ever since, hasn’t he?”
“He’s on the payroll,” Titus says, snorting.
“And what did you do to Swann?” I ask.
Titus shrugs. “I’d planned on having a go, but that was before Dunkel damaged the goods. I wasn’t interested in his leftovers. She told us she wanted to quit, wanted to ‘speak with someone.’ We couldn’t have that. She knew about the casino’s supplemental income, had a taste herself in fact.”
“The drugs?”
“The drugs,” Titus says. “She also knew about the whores of course. I tell you, Wade, you put drugs and whores together, and it’s money money money like you wouldn’t believe. We couldn’t risk our Swann ruining that. And you know Verne, he doesn’t like loose ends. So we decided to do what we had to do, and everything was under control—but then your sister got involve
d.”
My jaw tightens.
“Priscilla,” Titus says with a sick smile. Hearing her name from his mouth makes me want to break every bone in his body.
Swann recognizes my sister’s name.
She sits straighter with legs folded beneath, her eyes narrowing like she snapped out of a trance. Titus is so focused on me he doesn’t notice.
“What happened to my sister?” I say.
“Priscilla was snooping around the Lounge and got wind of the Swan.” Titus whirls the knife again. “Your sis drove out to the casino one day, pretending to be all sweet and shit, and Resnik let his guard down. He still liked her, you know, even after she ended their engagement. Priscilla took advantage. She walked off with Swann.”
“Pris rescued her.”
“She stole our fucking property! No one steals from the casino.”
Titus doesn’t see Swann’s hand moving toward a can nearby. If she can hit him with that can, I’ll have a few seconds.
A droplet of sweat rolls down the back of my neck. My AR-15 is eight feet away, about the same distance as Titus, and I could dive for it. But he’s fast. I won’t have the time to aim. A spray might hit him, but I’d risk hitting the girl.
“Chief Dunkel,” Titus says, “was mighty concerned when he found out about Swann’s escape. She could say things about him. Unpleasant things. He cares about his reputation.”
“I’m aware.”
Titus smirks. “We looked for your sister and our missing bird. Everywhere. Even your house, Wade. They were nowhere to be found. Resnik used his connections at the County Sheriff’s Office, got them involved too. But no dice. Then Hoyt Dunkel came up with a brilliant plan. He’s a devious fucker, that one. We contacted Priscilla by phone and offered a truce. We offered to stop chasing Swann—if we can have assurances the girl won’t talk. We set up a meeting by the river, told your sister to bring the girl.”
Swann’s hand wraps around the can.
My body tenses.
The muzzle of Titus’s handgun is still aimed at my guts, but his finger has wandered off the trigger. He taps the knife on his thigh as he talks, engrossed in his own story.
“Your sister smelled foul play,” he says. “She came alone. Resnik spoke with her. Dunkel and I stood apart, we couldn’t hear the words. But whatever she told him didn’t make him happy. Resnik gave me the signal and walked off, didn’t even stay to watch, that fucking guy. But he’d told me the day before how to do it. Clean, no blood. That narrowed my options considerably—”
Swann wallops his head with that can. I lunge for him.
Gunshot.
My ears ring and I smell the acrid vapors, but Titus missed. My momentum slams him to the floor. I’ve knocked his gun away.
A flash of steel, the blur of his knife plunging into me, and I feel the stab in my waist even through adrenaline.
I smell my blood. Warmth soaks my shirt when he rolls off.
He backhands Swann and sends her sprawling.
I scramble to my feet. My kick connects with his wrist and the knife flies out of his hand. We circle each other both unarmed.
There’s nothing human left in his expression.
I blink the sweat out of my eyes, light-headed from blood loss.
He swings and I sidestep. Near miss for him.
We collide again.
Titus is a fighter. He’s been trained.
Fast jabs, quick punches, nothing that leaves him open long. But my fist finds his elbow, my knee his stomach. He strikes me across the jaw. We break apart and circle again, Titus breathing heavier and holding his elbow.
My vision blurs, and the cave brightens with sunlight.
It’s daytime. Titus is gone. Swann is gone.
A boy and a girl are playing in front of my eyes. I realize the boy is me at twelve years old, and the girl is Pris, who’s just turned eleven.
Boy Me has a pile of dirt in his hands, about to dump it on my sister’s head. Eugene comes out of nowhere to stop him. My brother is already tall and strong, varsity quarterback at Salma High. Boy Me throws the dirt away. Pris turns around and blows a raspberry. Eugene says I should never hurt my baby sister even for a prank. Then the three of them, these phantoms, wave at me, and I know it’s impossible, that I’m seeing a hallucination, that I’m older now than Eugene was then, but I wave back.
And Pris says, “Natalie needs you.”
I blink.
The mirage burns away, the light, my family. All that remains is Titus, and Swann unmoving on the ground.
I cling to a newer memory, the first time I saw Natalie smile.
“Don’t faint on me, hero,” Titus says. “Your sister didn’t faint.”
I throw my weight at his legs and his guard lowers too slow. He wasn’t expecting it. We’re on the ground, grappling each other, his fingers clawing at my face, my fists slamming his ribs. His strength saps with every hit. He tries to block with his broken elbow, but soon his whole arm falls limp. I snatch up his knife and for an instant, Titus Quinton widens his eyes.
I bury the blade in his neck.
A jet of red. He tries to breathe.
Gurgles.
Then the gurgles stop and blood puddles under his head. I slump down beside him, staring at the moss-covered ceiling before I faint.
Natalie plants flowers under my front windows. The sun is hot, and she stops every few seconds to wipe her brow, toughing it out for a while longer. But she’s had enough for the day. She walks to the porch, where I’m sitting shirtless and watching her.
She shakes her head in disapproval. “Thank you for the help, jerk-off.”
“I like watching you.” I try to hide the lust in my voice.
“You like watching me?”
“I’m falling in love with you,” I say. No hiding that.
She blushes in that adorable way she has. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
She plops down in my lap, puts a hand on my abs. Her touch should stir my body, but I feel a stabbing pain that pierces my guts. She touches a gaping wound at my waist oozing with red.
“You’re hurt,” she says.
“I know, but I’ll be okay.”
“You have to get up, Asher.”
“Just let me sit here for a while. Let me watch.”
“Get up or you’ll die. Get up, Asher. Get up!”
A girl is speaking, but it’s not Natalie. The voice sounds too frail, her words barely reaching my brain.
“Get up. Get up. Please get up.”
I open my eyes to see Maral Swann kneeling at my side. She’s nudging my shoulder.
Titus’s knife had gone in at my waist right below the vest, and my pants are drenched in blood. But presently, the knife sticks out of his throat.
I move my hand.
The girl scurries back, scared for a moment. She crawls forward again. “Asher? Asher Wade?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re Priscilla’s brother. Priscilla.” She mouths my sister’s name over and over like a plea, Pris-ci-lla.
“Yeah,” I groan.
“Priscilla rescued me.”
“I know.”
“She said you were gone, and you wouldn’t be back for a long time.”
I meet the girl’s eyes, some shade of green. She looks younger than Natalie. “Well, I’m back.”
I pull myself upright against the wall and keep pressure on the wound. When the pain fades a bit, I reach for that knife in Titus’s throat.
Swann flinches.
I point at my waist. “I need to make a tourniquet. For the bleeding. I won’t hurt you.”
She nods, watches me from a squat with elbows on her knees. I don’t think she’s talked to another human being in a long time.
I take off my vest and my shirt. I wash the wound with a bottle of water. It doesn’t look bad but feels deep. I cut off a shirt sleeve and roll it into a makeshift bandage, pressing it to the cut, and I use what’s left of my shirt to tie the bandage to my wais
t. I put my vest back on and drink the rest of the water.
If the knife pierced my large intestine, I’ll die from septic shock within hours. Even if my intestines are whole, I’ve been exposed to enough dirt for an infection to set in. Gut wounds on the battlefield meant death in the time before antibiotics. Still do—if I don’t reach a hospital soon.
As I stand, Maral Swann rises to her feet.
“How long have you been living here?” I ask. “Do you understand me?”
She thumbs at her chest. “Maral.”
“Maral?”
“I’m Maral.”
“Okay, Maral. How long have you been living in this cave?”
“A long time,” she says. “Waiting for Priscilla. She told me to stay until she gets back.”
“Pris isn’t coming back.”
Maral raises her eyebrows as if I’m speaking gibberish.
“She’s dead,” I say. “You don’t know?”
The girl shakes her head, her face numb. I can’t imagine what she’s been through.
I spot a duffel bag sitting against the wall, Priscilla’s gym bag from high school. It’s seen better days. When I step closer, Maral grabs the bag and hugs it to her chest, and I laugh because the gesture reminds me of Natalie.
I stop laughing.
“This is mine,” Maral says. “Priscilla let me keep it.”
“Okay, okay.”
I look around the cave, at the bags of clothes, the cans, and various blankets. Food wrappers. A pile of fish bones. Old plastic bottles filled with water.
Pris must’ve brought Maral here two years ago after she rescued her from Lucky Cherries. This cave would’ve been the only place near town safe from Resnik’s men. Maral has been living here since then, probably foraging for food and stealing from the nearby farms. The river provides water for drinking and basic hygiene. You can live out here for a long time if you’re desperate enough.
I want to ask Maral why they didn’t escape and contact someone, the police in the next town or the FBI, anyone, but now’s not the time for questions. I may not have much time left anyway.
A wave of nausea rolls through me.
Biting my teeth, I pick up my rifle and sling it.
