by Zoey Parker
“Do it.”
I unbutton and unzip them, slide them down.
Terence glances down, grins.
“Lace ruffles? Almost like you knew.” His gun slides back down, slips under them, between my legs. He cocks the rifle. “Your shirt now. Unbutton it.”
I do. My hand shaking, I undo my shirt, button by button, wishing there was an endless number of them.
My shirt now open, Clarence runs his gun over my bra.
“You know what to do now.”
My whole body is trembling now.
Maybe I should just let him shoot me. Anything would be better than this.
But the cold want in Clarence’s eyes make it clear: There will be no getting out of this; he’d just shoot me and rape me anyway.
So, I take off my button-up, then unclasp my bra and let it drop to the floor.
Clarence lets out a growl of pleasure, presses his erection into me.
“You feel that?”
I burrow my head into the wall, and he continues, “I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to like it.”
I twist to face him.
“Fuck you,” I hiss, and he smiles.
He grabs both my breasts and squeezes. Traitorous spasms of painful pleasure spread through my body, and, as he fondles me, he whispers in my ear, “Oh Toni, I know you all too well. I know the more you resist, the more you want it.”
He pulls down my underwear so they drop to the ground, then pulls down his.
I shove myself away, but he grabs me by the waist.
“Careful,” he growls, yanking down his briefs.
I twist away as he shoves into me and a gunshot goes off.
His penis right against my outer lips, millimeters away from penetration, Clarence shudders. His face registers stupefaction as he looks down at the red patch growing on his shirt. Another blast and he collapses to the ground.
On his back, he convulses for a moment before falling still.
Through the flap door, Maria Fernanda’s kindly old face peers out.
“Did I do it? Is he dead?”
“Yes!” I bleat.
As I stumble off to the side so she can’t see my humiliating state, Maria Fernanda throws a squinty look around the room.
“You alright there Toni?”
I throw my shirt back on, speak amidst my redressing fumbles, “Yes Maria Fernanda! Thank you – I’ll be right out!”
I scramble into my pants then hurry to the flap door, avoiding looking at Clarence’s motionless body.
I crawl out, stand up and turn to Maria Fernanda.
Flopped on the armchair, legs akimbo, she’s holding the gun in a napkin as if it’s a chocolate chip cookie.
She murmurs, half to herself, clearly in shock at what she just did, “Mad, mad business. Just stuck my head and hand in, pointed where I thought the thing should go and – boom! – it went.”
She shakes her head, glances at the gun, says, “As soon as I heard what he was trying to do, I knew what I had to.”
I gape at Maria Fernanda, but her white face betrays nothing, is oblivious, doesn’t even notice my gaze.
“Where did you get the gun?” I ask.
“Your father’s room. There’s one in almost every other drawer.”
With the napkin, she hands me the gun.
Then, standing up and smoothing her skirt, she says, “Careful Toni. Upstairs, Carlos is up to no good. Just now he brought an albino man through the house with a gun pressed to the back of his head.”
I gape at her, blurt out, “What do you mean, just now? As in, five minutes ago?”
She nods, then shakes her head wistfully.
“This used to be a respectable house, a peaceful home. Your father never would have done such a thing.”
I hurry to the staircase, pause at the foot of it.
“Maria Fernanda, you need to get out of here. Maybe go to our cottage in Bayfield. Take your phone, and I’ll contact you when this is all over.”
But Maria Fernanda shakes her head again.
“No, if I left now I could never forgive myself. Besides who will look after Jane?”
My stomach twists with guilty fear.
“Maria Fernanda… where is Jane?”
“Why, the same place I was until I heard your brother come home: in the vacuum closet downstairs.”
I hurry over to the closet, throw it open and practically burst into tears at the sight of my wagging-tailed, lolling-tongued dog. My little darling.
Turning to Maria Fernanda, I gesture to the closet.
“Ok, wait there for me-” I drop the napkin to the ground, take the gun in my hand – “I’m going to put a stop to this.”
But Maria Fernanda doesn’t move.
“Please Maria Fernanda,” I say “I’ll be fine. Remember who won all the shooting competitions when we were young?”
A knowing smile spreading on her face, Maria Fernanda nods, mutters, “Your brother was never much good at anything,” as she returns to the closet with Jane.
Before I shut the door, she hands me a lion-handled knife.
“It may come in handy.”
I turn it over in my hand, the wooden head of the beast looking strangely familiar.
“It was your mother’s,” Maria Fernanda explains.
I nod, whisper, “Thank you.”
I tuck it in my pocket and shut the closet door.
There’s no time to think of that, of her. There’s only time for what I’m doing now – stopping Carlos.
I turn to the staircase.
Inhale, then exhale.
This is it. These next few minutes will decide everything.
I run up to the stairs, down the hallway to the corner, peer around into the living room.
Antonio and Roger have their guns on the table, are on their phones.
There’s two of them and one of me. I’m only going to get one shot at this.
I step out, shoot Antonio’s hand, then Roger’s.
As their hands go red and their faces contort, I aim at their other hands, shoot again.
They’re yelling, jiggling their arms uselessly to grab their guns at the table.
I hurry over, demand, “Where is he?”
They glare back at me, still jerking their arms, trying to get up.
I punch Roger, aim my gun at his head.
“Where is he?”
“Outside,” Antonio croaks.
“Thanks,” I say.
I smash his head into the table, then do the same to Roger.
That should take care of them for now.
Then I hurry to the glass door, where, in the distance, I can see two figures: one standing, and one on its knees.
I rush out, saying a silent prayer: Please God, don’t let me be too late.
Chapter 33
Gabriel
Carlos topples to the ground howling, his non-bandaged hand slack, streaming blood from a wound on his palm.
I grab the gun and point it at him.
“I came as fast as I could,” Toni says, “He had me locked up down there in the room.”
“Thank you,” I say, “I was coming for you.”
Her eyes are shining, and she looks sloppily beautiful, with her red eyes and improperly buttoned shirt.
“You should look away,” I say.
She gapes at me uncomprehendingly.
“I’m ending this,” I explain.
Her face falls.
“I already incapacitated them all inside,” she says slowly, “You don’t need to do that.”
Now it’s my turn to gape at her.
“Toni. Your brother was going to have you shipped out as a sex slave.”
As if he wants to help my cause, Carlos rolls onto his back and, eyes flashing, whimpers, “Fuck you both!”
But Toni doesn’t even glance at him. Instead, her face set, her eyes sad, she says, “I know. But Gabe, he’s my brother.”
I tear my gaze away from hers, direct it at the
pathetic sack of shit sobbing at our feet, the waste of space I’m going to put down.
“He killed my mom, Toni.”
“What?”
“He said that she was cheating with your dad, that he shot her.”
When I glance at Toni’s face, she doesn’t look as shocked as she sounds. I lift the gun so it’s pointed at her, while the sick realization tumbles out of my mouth, “You knew. You knew.”
But at my words, Toni’s eyes just fill with more tears. “Papa told me a few days ago that he was involved with your mother. He never knew who killed her.”
Carlos gargles out a laugh. “If he did, he woulda… he woulda… thanked me. You should all be… Your mom was a slut.”
I shoot Carlos’ foot and another ear-splitting howl erupts out of his lips.
Toni steps forward, extends her hand.
“Gabriel. You’ve hurt him enough. Please.”
I look at her, the woman I love, the girl who can’t understand.
This scum killed my mother. He kidnapped my sister. He tried to kill me. Letting him live would go against everything I’ve stood for, fought for. Killing him would end this.
I lift the gun. I have to do this.
“It won’t bring her back,” Toni says, and this time, there’s understanding in those dark eyes of hers.
Her mother is dead, too. And now, her father is gone as well.
Toni extends her hand out further.
“Please, Gabriel. There’s been enough death and pain these past few days.”
I don’t move. My hand is holding the gun that’s pointed at the sobbing waste of space I’m going to shoot.
“Please Gabriel. If you love me, you’ll do this.”
I look up at her, my love, whose tears are finally streaming down now. Who loves me and who’s putting that love, putting everything on the line for this scum. This scum who just so happens to be her brother.
I lower the gun, then raise it again. Then, finally, lower it.
I can’t shoot Toni’s brother in front of her.
“Look away,” I tell her.
She doesn’t move, and I point the gun at her.
“Look away Toni, I mean it.”
Tears streaming down her face now, she can only shake her head.
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
And now my hand is trembling of its accord, at the choice before me: my family or hers, my love or my revenge.
And my love is spreading her arms and my revenge is sobbing a repentance he doesn’t feel.
I switch the gun back and forth from my love to my revenge. The gun stops in front of my revenge. I cock it.
Point it at Toni, and hand it over.
She takes it with a trembling hand. Takes my hand with her other one.
“Thank you, Gabriel.”
Carlos lets out a guffaw of ugly victory. My kick to his ribs transforms it into a howl of pain.
Tucking the gun in her pant pocket, Toni smiles, shrugs.
“He deserved that.”
I advance until I’m right in front of her, and, saying “One more thing,” press my lips to hers. Our lips meet, while we hold each other tight.
Finally, we have to draw apart, shooting glares at Carlos, who’s making a spluttering gurgling that could be laughing or crying.
“I… should probably get him to a doctor,” Toni says, “Though it’ll be fun explaining how he got shot in the other arm and the foot.”
I smirk.
“Just tell ‘em Carlos inadvertently shot himself twice. If they know him, they’ll buy it.”
We laugh.
I help her pick Carlos up and carry him toward the house.
The whole journey back is surreal.
Last time I padded over this dirt I was sure I was going to die. Now however, I know that my life has just begun.
I glance over at her, the remarkable woman I can finally take out.
Her face is creased with the effort of carrying Carlos.
“Sorry babe,” I say, “I do have some guys who could help us but if I asked them to help I’d also ask them to accidentally-on-purpose kill this bastard.”
Toni nods, holding back a smile.
“Yeah, think it’s better I figured this one out myself. And Gabriel?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m ready for that date when you are.”
We laugh, and I pump up my fist victoriously.
“And to earn it, all I had to do was blow up your two compounds, find out your true identity and almost kill your brother.”
At the door, I stagger with a sudden jolt of pain.
I look down at my leg, the white pant of my lower leg now all red. I had completely forgotten the bullet lodged in it with all the craziness.
“Your leg!” Toni exclaims, “Are you ok?”
“Yes, I...”
I take a step forward and fall down, dropping Carlos’ feet on the ground.
Pain rips through my whole leg and I shake my head.
“No, I…think we need to staunch the bleeding.”
Toni places Carlos’ upper body on the ground. Then, taking a knife out of her pocket, she crouches down and slices through the bottom of her shirt, cutting off a wide strip of fabric.
I grin at her newly showcased bare torso.
“Well, that’s an improvement.”
Grinning herself, Toni lifts my pant leg., pulls it back, then puts the fabric over top of it, ties it round as tight as she can.
Together, we head inside, though I can walk by myself now. The pain is almost completely gone actually. Toni’s tourniquet may have just saved the day.
As we enter the house through the sliding door, I glance over into the living room, where the men from before are, flopped unconscious.
“Hey… where are the – how did you get by them?” I ask.
“Oh, my traitorous lieutenants? I just shot them in both hands,” Toni answers casually.
We plop Carlos on the kitchen floor and, as Toni takes out her phone, I gape at her.
“What?” she asks, “I’ve been a sharpshooter since I was a kid.”
She dials on her phone then, glancing up, says, “Don’t believe me? Check their hands. I’m calling an ambulance.”
While Toni goes upstairs to talk to an ambulance, I head over to the couches to get a good look at the men’s hands.
But once I do, I have to stop, crouch down and stare for a good minute to make sure I’m actually seeing what I think I’m seeing.
In all four of their hands, the bullet hole is dead center in each of their palms.
As I rise and turn around, there’s a gun to my chest.
“Don’t you go trying anything,” a Mexican woman says.
Behind her, Toni’s dog barks at me.
“Uhh… who are you?” I ask.
“Who am I?” she demands, eyes flashing, “Who are you?”
She looks like a maid, and she’s holding the gun like a maid, all tilted wrong and in the incorrect position for shooting.
I could take her out easily, but I better not until I know it’s okay with Toni.
“I’m Gabriel Pierson,” I say, “Toni’s boyfriend.”
“Now I know you are lying,” the woman snaps, “Toni does not have a boyfriend.”
The woman shakes her bunned head, and Jane barks out her agreement.
At this very opportune moment, Toni’s voice comes down the stairs, “Gabriel?”
The woman squints then glares at me, raises her nose in the air.
Footsteps and then, “Maria Fernanda!”
Maria Fernanda sniffs, doesn't lower the gun. “He says he is your boyfriend. I do not believe him.”
Smiling, Toni walks over, asks, “Oh, is that so?”
