by C. Hallman
Fuck. Sweat forms on my brow. He is calling my bluff.
“I do,” I say, keeping my emotions hidden from my face. Pulling the gun away from Amara’s head, I slip it into the back of my pants, and I swear I can hear her sigh with relief. Little does she know, things are about to get ten times crazier. I just hope she will be able to hang on a little longer.
Pulling my knife from my belt, I get a good grip on it. I watch John’s eyes grow bigger than ever as I put the blade to her throat.
“Enzo, you don’t have to do this,” she whimpers. She is scared, and she has a reason to be. If her father doesn’t cooperate, I’ll have to hurt her.
“Now, tell me what it is I want to know,” I growl, ignoring Amara shaking in my hold. I have to do this.
“You won’t…” John jokes with a laugh stuck in his throat.
“I will,” I snarl as I grip the knife tighter and push it softly into Amara’s creamy white skin.
I can feel her pulse jumping underneath my fingers, smell her fear, and I have no way of telling her it will be okay.
“Kill her then.”
“Okay.” I shrug my shoulders and push the knife into her skin harder—praying to fucking God he is goading me.
Her small hand reaches up to push my hand away, but instead of stopping, I press the knife further into her skin. Until I can feel a small trickle of blood escaping down her neck.
“Stop!” she cries out. Her breaths turn into pants, and I hold my own until my lungs burn as she tries to wiggle out of my hold.
“Okay… Okay…” John finally pleads. Immediately, I pull the blade away and turn Amara around in my hold. My eyes skim over the cut before I turn my full attention back to John. I don’t dare look into her eyes right now, I’m not ready for what I know I’m going to see. That’s something to deal with later.
“Are we on the same page now, or do I need to do something else? When I said I took her as a form of payment, I meant I was taking her pussy to fuck it until it was useless. I didn’t say I was going to grow attached to it. I definitely didn’t say I would keep her the fuck alive.” The words coming from my mouth make me cringe on the inside, so I can’t imagine what is going through Amara’s mind.
“Killing her won’t get you the answers you want.”
“Maybe not, but killing her will make you see what it’s like to lose your last living relative. It will make you suffer the way you made me suffer.”
Releasing my hold on Amara, I push her away and swiftly pull out my gun again. I watch as she sinks to the floor while I move my gun to point it at her yet again. I only dare to glance at her face briefly, exhaustion and shock evident in her features. Come on. Stay with me, Amara.
“What do you want to know?” John asks, taking a seat again. His eyes drift to the door, and I wonder if he is expecting someone to come. If so, I have to speed this whole thing up.
The gun in my hand feels heavy as guilt presses down hard on my chest.
“I think we both know the answer to that question. I want answers, I want to know who ordered you to kill my mother, and I don’t want to go in a fucking circle trying to get them.” My voice turns animalistic as my gaze bleeds into John’s. I can see the beads of sweat forming on his face even from across the room.
That’s right, fucker. I have your one and only weakness in my grasp.
“Dad, just tell him you didn’t do it.” Amara’s voice croaks as she speaks. John’s gaze slips from mine to hers.
“Things are about to get really fucking bloody if you don’t tell me what I want to fucking know.”
His meaty hand rubs over his bald head and then down his face as worry forms in his eyes.
“I killed your mom. My partner and I were working for the FBI at the time, and I killed her. It’s not like we fucking wanted to. We were just following orders.” His words seem far away. Like they are coming from a different room. Slowly, what he says reaches my mind, trickling in like water drops from a leaky faucet.
“You didn’t want to?” I echo his words, my voice shaking at the end with raw anger surging through me.
“Your father’s organization had killed tons of our men. Our job was to go in and snuff you out. We needed to put an end to the family and after your father died was the perfect time to strike. You and your mother were the last loose strings in the mix of things. You know what they say about loose…”
“A loose string? A loose string to what? A woman and a child,” I scream. My voice morphs into something I don’t recognize, and the next moment, I lunge for him.
His gun goes off, but I don’t feel any pain. I’m not sure if he misses or if I’m simply so consumed by rage that I’m numb. I slap the gun from his hand and watch it fly across the living room, leaving him helpless and at my mercy.
This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. I shouldn’t feel so conflicted about this.
Turning his face up to me, he smiles. It’s in his smile that I lose all uncertainty about killing him and find the need to finish the job. He deserves to die—a death for a death.
Suddenly, everything moves in slow motion. I can hear Amara’s screams as I lift the gun, placing the barrel against his forehead.
I pull the trigger.
No remorse shatters within me, not even as I watch his brains splatter on the floor behind him. Not as I watch his eyes go blank, and his chest stop moving. Not even as realization sets in that I just killed the father of the woman I love… in front of her.
Instead, I stand above him, watching life leave his body.
Amara’s cries turn to lunatic screams as she scrambles across the floor. Her small hands paw at his shirt as she pleads with him to wake up and be alive.
“Daddy,” she cries, tears streaking through the dirt on her face, and in this moment, I don’t even care. I don’t care about anything. I don’t feel anything.
I thought I would be happy, proud that I finally avenged my mother, at the very least relieved. Instead, I feel… nothing at all.
“Get up,” I say sternly.
She shakes her head, sobs wracking her small body.
“How the fuck could you do this?” She turns to me, rendering me speechless by the hatred filling her glare. “How could you! I hate you!”
She has told me that she hated me before, but this is the first time I actually believe her. She hates me, and that’s my own doing.
“A life for a life. We’re even,” I murmur, knowing damn well we are not even. She’s never done anything to me, yet I took everything from her. She has every right to hate me, but I still can’t let her go.
“Get up, we need to leave before his men come up here,” I order as I holster my gun.
She shuffles to her feet, tears still falling from her eyes, cascading down her cheeks. “You think I’m going to fucking go anywhere with you? Leave me the fuck alone. I should call the cops on you right now.”
I almost laugh as I watch her gaze swing around the room as if she is looking for something. “Not a good idea, piccolo,” I warn, pointing the gun at her.
“Do it. Shoot me. I bet you can’t. I bet you’re too big of a fucking coward. God knows, I know it. My father knew it, too.”
Reaching out, I grab her hair and pull her face to mine harshly. My nostrils flare, and my blood burns as I look into her eyes. I’m met with no fear, no sadness, or doubt—only red-hot anger.
“I know you are angry with me right now. I know you are hurting and confused, so I’m going to let this slide. But I’m warning you. Never. Ever. Fucking talk to me like that again. You’re coming with me, and you will do whatever the fuck I tell you.”
Instead of releasing her, I stare deeply into her eyes, hoping to see the woman I love underneath all this hate between us.
For a split second, I think I see her, I think there might be a part left of that woman, that there is a sliver of hope for us. That thought vanishes when Amara pulls back and spits on me. My chest heaves, and my anger spirals out of control.
Releasing my grip on her hair, I wrap one hand around her throat, and the other along her jaw.
“I was kind to you, I understood you, and I cared for you. I still fucking do, but you knew if I found out, it would be his dead body on the ground. You heard him. He killed my mother. He put you in a fucking hole. He had to die. I had to kill him. You’re lucky you are alive.”
Clenching her teeth with deep anger as she tries to pull away, she seethes, “I would much rather be dead than have to fucking go anywhere with you.”
She can be mad all she wants. Her ass is still stuck with me. She has nowhere else to go and no way of protecting herself.
“You are coming with me, whether you like it or not.”
“Go to hell!”
“Already there, sweetheart.”
My fingers dig harder into her skin, and I know there will be bruises if I don’t stop.
“Fuck you,” she whimpers, pain slowly bleeding into her anger. I’ve caused her this heartache—I’ve done this to her.
I’ve taken the beautiful, innocent angel she was and molded her into this broken doll. I’ve shattered her beyond repair. Gripping her arm tight, I pull her toward the door, only to be stopped by her digging her feet into the ground.
“Fine, then,” I growl. Gripping her by the hips, I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder.
“Put me the fuck down!” Though I ignore her foul mouth, I can’t ignore the pounding and scratching on my back.
“You’re going to get us killed with your fucking screaming, yelling, and nonsense thinking,” I snap as I make my way down the driveway. I’m so fucking numb, my leg doesn’t even hurt. I hear her huffs, anger radiating out of her like an overheated furnace.
“Getting us killed? Are you fucking crazy? No, wait. You are! You just killed my dad in front of me. My dad…” Her voice cuts off, and I can feel her body shake with another sob.
Why do I still not feel any remorse? My mind tells me I should. My brain tells me I should hold her, comfort the woman I love, but my heart is empty, my chest void of all emotion.
“Yeah. You will get us killed if you keep your fucking yap open. While I know I just killed your father, I also know his men will kill us both if they find us. So shut your mouth. Mourn later. I never said I was a good man, Amara. I told you I was out for vengeance. Loving you wasn’t going to stop me from seeking it. Be mad, hate me, never love me again, but know you are still mine. You can’t run from me.”
Silence settles over us as her chest heaves against my shoulders. Her small fists stop hitting my back, and a moment later, her body goes limp in my hold.
Still, I feel nothing, and I can’t help but wonder if I ever will again.
5
Amara
My chest heaves as I hold in the tears I desperately want to release. Enzo has ripped the last living person from my life. He shot and killed him in cold blood. It didn’t matter to him that I loved him—nothing mattered anymore.
He deposits me on the SUV’s cold leather seat and shuts the door, not saying a single word. I should open the door, I should run, kick, and fight him, but I know it would be useless. He would just hunt me down and haul me back here, and right now, I’m just too damn tired to fight.
As I sink further into the seat, my mind spirals further into the abyss. How could he do something so cruel? How could he kill someone and feel no remorse? John was my father—none of his wrongdoings changed that fact. None of it did. Now my dad is dead, and I have no one left. Nothing. I’m all alone in this world now—just like Lorenzo King.
“You’ll move on,” he whispers to no one. It has to be no one because I wasn’t listening to a fucking word he said. Once I get my strength back, I’ll leave the first chance I get. I will run. I will escape his hold. There is no doubt in my mind that Enzo is a living, breathing monster—far worse than the ones you heard about in fairytales.
“Maybe you don’t want to believe your dad was capable of such venomous acts, or you simply don’t want to face the music—either way, you had to know it would come down to this.” Enzo’s voice meets my ear, but it doesn’t sound like him. There is no emotion. He sounds like a robot spewing out information someone programmed him to say. Like a navigation system giving direction to a fucking coffee shop.
“I hate you,” I spit the words at him, hoping they hit him with the intensity of my fist.
“Get in fucking line.”
“He was everything to me. He was my father. My fucking father. You killed the last living member of my family—for revenge? Do you feel better? Does hurting me make your heart red again?” I scream the words across the center console, tears streaming down my face so heavily I can’t see anything. There is a fist-sized hole punched through my chest by the very man I love.
Ignoring my comment, he turns the car on, throws it into reverse, and pulls out of my driveway. We haven’t even talked about what happened to him, to me. Hours ago, I would’ve been glad to know he was alive and wanted to save me, but now—now I want to be the one to put the bullet in his head and bury him six feet under.
Eventually, the car settles into silence, but I refuse to allow that to remain. I refuse to make this easy for him, to be anything but angry and sad. I’m hurt, breaking apart on the inside, and it’s his fault. All his fucking fault.
Wiping away the tears, so I can see the face of the monster, I stare into a pair of warm honey-colored eyes. “When I look at you, I see a small boy out on a mission to bring the world to its knees. To take anyone and everything out—anything undeserving of your attention. But maybe, just fucking maybe, it’s you who’s undeserving of the rest of us. Maybe it’s you who needs to take a look around and realize the world owes you nothing. And killing people like my father gets you nothing. It doesn’t make you feel better. It causes you to lose someone who actually cared for you. Probably the only person in the world stupid enough to fall for you—me.”
I watch as his knuckles grip the steering wheel with strength I’ve never seen before. Is he going to kill me next? Would it even matter? I’m not sure I would care at this point. Maybe I’ll welcome death, it’s not like I have anything else to live for.
“This is the life I’m living, Amara. This is what happens when someone betrays someone. You knew I was on the hunt for someone. You knew if I found him, I would kill him. It just happened to be bad luck that it turned out to be your father.”
My eyes feel as if they are about to roll out of my head as I listen to him. He isn’t even sorry.
“Do you hear yourself?”
“Do you?” he screams back, his face growing red with anger.
“Just let me go. Stop the car and let me out.”
“Fuck, Amara,” he growls. “Just calm down.”
“I will never love you again. You’re less than the dirt beneath my feet,” I whisper, my voice dark and unsettling.
For a moment, I don’t think he heard me, but then a sigh escapes his lips. I direct my attention to the road while I try desperately to compose myself. I would rather drown myself than look weak in the face of someone like him.
“You love me anyway.” I can practically see the smile on his face, and it makes me sick. It makes my insides twist into a hateful rush of anger.
Seething, I refuse to say anything else. I wasn’t even given a chance to say goodbye. My heart aches. How can I move on from this?
Pushing myself further into my seat, I hear Enzo’s phone ring. I wonder who it could be. Had he already called someone to bury my father?
“What?” Enzo growls, his face contorts in anger as he switches his hands on the steering wheel, so he can talk and drive. I can hear the person on the other end yelling.
“I told you I was going out,” Enzo mumbles, focusing on the road. More talking on the other end, and then a loud sigh fills the car. “Yeah, because I already killed him. I have her in the car with me.”
Turning, I narrow my eyes at him. Who else had known about this plan? Were there more peop
le? There are a lot of unanswered questions. I really wish I could’ve asked my dad why he did it. Why he caused this big huge blowout. I wish Enzo would’ve let him talk.
“What the fuck?”
I listen as intently as I can and watch Enzo’s face go as white as a sheet. Whatever is being said on the other end isn’t something I want to hear, I’m sure. I’ve suffered enough heartache for the day. For a lifetime.
More talking on the other end, and my mind keeps reeling. What now? Enzo’s eyes look worried, and from a single look, I know whatever is being said will shake the already unstable ground we’re standing on.
“Yeah. We’ll talk about it when we get there,” Enzo says, hanging up the phone before the person on the other end can say something else.
“Who was that?” I can’t stop myself from asking.
“Jared.” Of course, I should’ve known. I should’ve known he would be the first person he’d go to after all of this.
“What did he say?”
One hand grips the steering wheel while the other ran through his dark hair, pulling on it as if to relieve some tension. His eyes capture mine in a hold so intense shivers run down my spine. I loathe him, but at the same time, my heart tugs toward him. I hate him for doing what he did. I want to forget. I want my life to be normal.
“He is mad that I left without asking for his help, but that’s not important right now. Amara, Jared found out something while he was looking for you. Something that’s going to change your life.” Balling my hands into fists, I narrow my eyes at him. He already changed both our lives forever. I’m doubtful there is anything to make it worse.
“What might that be, Lorenzo, because as of right now, nothing can make what you have done worse than what it is.” My jaw aches as I clench it. I want to lash out. Want to make him feel the same pain he caused me.
The muscles along his jaw tick with anger as he keeps his eyes on the road, ignoring my hateful comment. When he doesn’t answer me right away, it only adds fuel to the burning fire.
