by Hazel Grace
“Why is it that I think you can give me something else?” I tell him. “What are the names of the other dudes you were with?”
“I only knew Gio.”
“And the only plan was to kill Reagan Lockwood?”
“Yeah.”
“What about the husband and the kid?” Silence greets back at me, and I hit the button of the air horn, causing Tony to violently jerk up. “The husband and kid, what happens to them?”
“Dead. Everyone dead.”
“So that means there was more to the plan, Tony, see my issue here?” He has zero strength to lift his head, probably from all the additional bullshit we’ve been putting him through. “Anyone else?” He shakes his head, only irritating me more than I already am.
Picking up my BB gun lying on the side of my chair, I place my blunt in between my lips and pump the lever on the fun five times. The noise gets Tony’s attention because he weakly hauls his head up.
“Dude, I...told you. I don’t know...anything else.”
“Don’t believe you.” I aim, pull the trigger, and hit him right under the ribcage. Tony howls out, strings of curses mixed with heavy breathes fill the room. “Wanna try again?”
I begin pumping the gun again, this time to ten. This one’s gonna fucking hurt.
“Eli,” he quickly voices. “A dude...named Eli.”
“Who the fuck is that?” Removing my doobie from my lips, I lick my bottom lip and carefully ash the end in the tray.
Tony’s face screws up in pain, an inner battle within himself—I don’t fucking know, don’t care.
What I want is everything.
I want every piece of information or fact this dumbass knows. I’d like all this shit to be over.
I wish shit was different between Stormi and I.
I liked having sex with you, Marty, but that has nothing to do with—
With what? That comment has been fucking with me since she said it, and Harley Quinn fits her better than anything I’ve ever seen.
I get that she has morals, lived a life that didn’t involve bloodshed and violence—just molesting and lack of personal space—but she wants me. She craves more than my dick. I see it in her eyes, the way she reacts when I touch her. The way her heartbeat skips and scatters when I’m around her.
Shit, mine does the same thing but worse. My imagination is a little more crazy and unbalanced, wild scenarios in my head.
But I won’t force her, I can’t. She deserves the world, not mine.
“Some young guy,” Tony conveys before his chains rattle at his trying to remain standing. “He came with...a suitcase of money. Brought it...I guess to show us we’d be paid.”
“How much?”
“50k.”
These dumb fucks.
I pinch my lips around my weed. “What do you know about Hollis and Bianca?”
“Who?” I tug on the trigger again, not giving a shit where I hit him just as long as I do.
“Fuck!“ He begins to seethe air through his teeth, now yanking on the chains because skinny, Italian Tony over here has a temper on him.
“You know you’re not the first one to try this shit, right?” I suck in another hit, place the barrel of the gun in my lap.
“Yeah,” he deadpans.
“And they failed. So what makes you dicks think you’re going to get lucky again?”
“More dudes,” he replies off a feeble shrug. “I didn’t make the plan.”
Rising from my chair, I take one last inhale off my blunt, making sure all the cannabis hits my lungs before placing it down in an ashtray.
Every ounce of stress, anger, and Stormi seeps through my pores. Her being pissed at me takes the cake, the cherry on top is the men still coming for my sister and her family.
I’m done playing nice.
I’m done waiting.
I’m fucking done dodging Stormi because she denies how she feels about me.
She’ll get over Bianca because she isn’t shit.
However, I’m not completely naive enough to believe it won’t end how it was supposed to all along.
I need to let this go. I need to let her go. I need to stop putting myself in this spot where it’s just going to cause unwanted emotions. I feel them now, why continue on?
Strolling towards Tony, I stop in front of him, now, peering down at the hardwood floors with limited energy. He’s not telling me something. No man is going tracking through the woods unless he knew my cabin was there.
Reaching for his hair, I yank back on his head, getting him to look up at me. Brown eyes barely make it past his heavy eyelids, and I feel zero remorse for what I’m about to do.
Seizing the jagged blade in my back pocket, I spear it into his side. “That’s for thinking you were going to kill my sister.” Ripping it out, I hit him again in the thigh, ignoring his cries of pains blaring in my face. “This is for attempting to kill my nephew and brother-in-law.” Another jab but to his back. “This is for breaching my property.”
Everything blurs and mutes itself then.
I can feel Tony sag forward, the adrenaline coursing through my veins, and the anxiety of what I’m feeling between Stormi and I.
I force myself to focus and finish this out.
“And this is for the possibility of you touching what’s mine, what I want, what I wish I could have.” The knife in my hand makes one clean swipe across his throat, and his eyes gloss over. He knows that was the final action that would end his fucked up existence. “It’s been real, Tony.”
Releasing his head, blood pours from his neck as he chokes on his own fluids, straining for air, for another chance.
You don’t get any here.
He’s after my family. The woman I’m starting to fall for.
He dies.
Everyone will die.
Pivoting away, I pluck up my blunt and stride out of the bunker.
I have another person to visit with.
One with the creepy resemblance of Stormi and the other a fur buddy named Armageddon.
“Hit me.” Mills tosses a card into the center of the dining table, flicking the other two with his index finger as he hums softly to himself. “And kiss it, Em, for good luck.”
She ignores him, tossing another card almost violently his way while I spoon another scoop of chocolate peanut butter ice cream. Her luck is as good as mine, and we might as well be two peas in a pod because our attitudes match too.
Mills, on the other hand, doesn’t notice or bother to acknowledge it, ignoring our moods which he’s doing a stellar job of.
“Ehhh...” He plucks his Coors Light bottle and takes a swig. “I’ll stay. Wanna place a wager on this bet?”
Em shoots him an exasperated look. “What could you possibly give me?”
I feel Mills’s eyes on me, and I glance up at him, a slow smirk lifting up his face. “Oh, I don’t know, I’m sure I can think of something.”
Our kiss.
Squinting my eyes at him to just keep his lips shut, I pop another scoop of ice cream in my mouth.
Everyone here seems to be trending down the same path as Marty feels—I’m his girl and treated with the highest respect. Almost like a queen, which makes it extremely uncomfortable when all three meals are made for me, and I’m asked if I need anything before one of them babysit me for a few hours.
Bishop is surprisingly my favorite because he keeps a distance—like in the other room to where he can still see me, but he doesn’t speak, ask or harass me.
He just hands me a sandwich and promptly leaves.
And while I don’t mind Mills’s teasing and jokes or Emmy wanting to do girl things, being in my twenties and being watched over like a rowdy child is becoming annoying again.
Add on the swelling of loss that aches inside my chest every time it’s not Marty striding in the room, and I’m having the time of my life over here.
“I’m going to go take a walk.” That has both sets of eyes in the kitchen pinned on me. “What?”
“It’s ten ‘o’clock,” Mills deadpans with a—for once—serious tone.
“Yeah?”
“Your man wanted you to stay in tonight.”
“He’s not my man,” I retort. “And I need everyone in this room to understand that.” A deafening muteness fills the room as though they didn’t hear what I had to say, or they’re not going to argue with me. “I just need some air.”
Mills begins to push back his chair. “I’ll go with—” My arm extends to stop him.
“No, I’ll be fine. I won’t leave the backyard. I just want a few minutes to myself is all.” Mills steals a peek at Emmy who, in turn, does the same thing. Something must pass between them because Mills bows his head.
“Alright, five minutes. But don’t get me into any more trouble with Emric. You already did the other day.” He brushes the skin over his lips, hiding his evident smile because we both know it was both of our faults if any.
Dismissing myself from the table, I make quick work of the few moments that I have and get outside.
It’s my favorite part of the day, every single star is out, glistening and flickering in the bluish-black sky. I couldn’t make out a constellation if I tried, not that I knew many. The coolness of the night air takes away some of the humidity from the day, and I glance at the dark woods, wondering if Marty is out there.
Who cares?
It’s on a repetitive record in my head right now, I said what I needed to say, and I wish it stuck. I wish that I had never done what I let Marty do, which is suck me in. It only caused things to become more difficult and trying, now playing with my vital organs and making them do sporadic things. I’m stronger now, I can walk away and not be scared.
Sitting at the picnic table where Marty had all his guns laid out the other day, I listen. Not only to my surroundings but the battle going on inside my head. Both sides have a point, there are pros and cons, except the rational side is winning out. The fear of the unknown and what I’d be involved in every day is too much to bear because as much as I want to, I don’t resent Marty in the slightest. My feelings are more rainbow and fluffy, ones that I want to throw gray paint on and make them more black and white.
The deep singular bark of a dog sounds off in the distance, towards the shadowed trees, and my brows knit together in confusion. I haven’t seen any other houses around here, but Reagan’s and Marty doesn’t own one to my knowledge.
Heeding for another sound, nothing but crickets and a random owl occupies the night’s voices now. I steal another look at the sky, focusing on finding one of the Dippers above when it happens again. My neck snaps back to the darkened space towards the bunker when it goes missing again.
Rising to my feet, I peer over at the door leading into the kitchen to see Mills and Emmy talking over beers through the window.
Five minutes.
I let my curiosity get the best of me, and I’m walking, letting the limited streams of the moon guide me through the narrow trail.
It doesn’t take long for me to get to the bunker, but I dare not open the door. I’m afraid of what I might find inside. Of what they’ve already done to Bianca and the man Marty said he still had within his possession.
The smell of a campfire fills my nostrils when a soft breeze brushes against my face and I move again, looking for any sort of light source. My ears are on high alert as the trail disappears into random brush, bushes and fallen limbs from trees, casting an eerie vibe on all sides of me.
I’m hearing things. There’s no one out here.
Except my feet keep striding forward, just a few more yards, and I’ll turn around. Each step, another one I have to take back and make sure it’s not in some random boobie trap or hole that Marty’s crazy-ass built for intruders.
The hue of orange appears through the random plant life as I take a shift to my right, urging me on.
I carefully get closer, the brightness of the campfire I smelt earlier becomes more real. A mumbling of voices comes into play now, and I’ve descended on something I don’t think I’m supposed to see.
I should turn back, go back to Mills because he’s probably outside looking for me in the backyard by now. I know my several moments of peace and quiet are now over, but I keep treading towards the private encounter that is within the secret of the night.
Until I hear a branch snap behind me, followed by a low growl of what intones as an animal.
My body locks up, pivoting quickly to see what’s there when something furry takes a threatening step in my direction.
I turn and run, fully aware that it’s going to catch me. That I don’t stand a chance. A scream already ripped from my lips as I try to zig and zag to lose it. My chest burns from the needy intakes of air that I need to breathe. My only hope is the murmuring of voices that I heard somewhere in the woods.
I form another scream, almost getting it released from my throat when I’m snatched up by my bicep and spun to the side. A black figure stands in front of me—well, a chest—as I quickly raise my chin.
“What the fuck are you doing out here?” The male voice drips peril and anger as it shakes me for a quick answer. His words register, then his tone, and I knit my brows.
“Bishop?”
I hear his harsh scoff before he barks out, “Lass es.”
“Wh—” He hauls on my frame then, guiding me through the masses of the woods when we reach the edge of another clearing, displaying the fire that I smelt earlier.
What is he doing, a witch ritual, or something?
I scan the area, finding items placed near the flames when I quickly wish he was really doing some witchcraft or some religious thing. Because the scene in front of me is so much worse.
Bianca’s body is tied to a thick pole, her front glistening from the light of the fire giving away blood all over her shirt. Her eyes have already fallen on me, wide and fearful, as she jerks at her restraints. A cloth is tightly bound between her lips, so I can’t make out what she’s trying to say, but I’m sure it’s pleas to get her free.
Things I was only just asking for weeks ago.
The beast that just chased me moments ago shows up in front of her, a large German Shepherd thats fur is peppered in blood. He completely ignored me and went to his next target.
“Sitz,” Bishop snaps at my side before releasing me like an unwanted doll.
The animal sits faithfully, staring at its prisoner as I watch Bishop stride towards a black bag on the ground.
Marty’s bag.
My focus takes in the rest of the space, only welcomed by the three of us and the dog.
“Where’s Marty?” I ask—more like mutter—as I step backward. Bishop has always made me a little unsteady with his stoic demeanor and the personality of a brick wall.
I’d have a better conversation with a dandelion than I would him, and that’s fine, I just wish he wouldn’t be so cryptically quiet. Especially in the middle of the night surrounded by woods and the perfect layout for a horror film.
Except I found the killer and the victim, so what does that make me?
Bishop squats down, rummaging through the duffle and silently dismissing me by not answering. Bianca makes a strangled moan-like sound, gaining my focus as she continues to stare at me, making me feel guilty by just standing here and doing nothing.
She’s here because she almost murdered Reagan. I’m not a part of this.
Which is why I should’ve just listened and stayed in the backyard.
“I need to get back to Mills,” I deadpan, watching what I think is a hammer fly to the side of Bishop’s body and hit the dirt.
Inching en route of where I should’ve stayed, Bishop’s voice suddenly rings out, “No, you’re not.”
I want to tell him that I am, but no words mold together to make a sentence. The trust that I have for Bishop and what he might do to me is cringe-worthy.
However, I’m not going to stick around for whatever play he was going to put on with Bianca.
�
�I’m disappointed that you weren’t trying to get back to me.” The declaration is whispered from behind me, jerking me around and stumbling backward.
Marty stands there, the stubble of his face making him appear more fatal and cunning than he ever has before. Especially, again, with the setting that we’re in and a woman who is about to face a fate I’m sure no one will want to ever even think about.
His eyes make a path down my body and back up as he soaks me into this moment. I do the same, taking in his jeans, red flannel jacket and white tee underneath. It takes me a few seconds to notice the bag of arrows and the bow wrapped around one of his shoulders.
“What are you doing out here, sweetheart?” he asks me, the octave of his voice making my nipples harden. “I swear I had two people watching you this time.”
“I...” I jerk my thumb behind me. “I heard a dog.”
Marty detaches his eyes from me, and I feel the loss of them immediately when he flicks them to Bishop. “I told you to keep that mutt quiet.”
I take a step forward, regaining his attention. “Marty...” I glance down at what he’s carrying. “Are you—um...” He doesn’t fill in the blanks for me, forcing me to come face to face with what’s in front of me and deal with it head-on.
“Mhm?” He erases some space between us but stops within an arms’ length. His height feels like a blanket, safe when it isn’t.
Warm when I should always feel a chill of apprehension and dread coursing through my frame. Constant, which is what I always want, to be around him and listen to him, just speak no matter the topic.
“Where have you been?”
“Busy.” I nod, not having anything else to say. I’ve said quite enough lately. “Thought some space from me would do you some good.”
Right.
“Miss me?” My body waves a white flag at his words, wanting to step into his arms that are still full. I want to remember what he smells like firsthand and just close my eyes against his chest.
A pained cry suddenly echoes through the area, rattling my bones in surprise as I whirl around to see Bishop positioned with a bow. Flicking my gaze to Bianca, an arrow sticks out from her bicep as her frame bows in agony.
