I listen to the motorcycle engine roar to life.
I listen until the sound disappears into the distance, carrying Vanna toward safety.
Toward Leah. Toward help. Toward the life I'm going to make sure she gets to live.
Then I turn back to Virgil.
He's trying to crawl away, dragging himself across the floor with his hands, leaving a thick smear of blood behind him.
His ruined knee trails uselessly, bone grinding against bone with every movement.
He's whimpering, cursing, praying—all at once, words tumbling over each other in a desperate stream.
Pathetic.
A snake with a broken back, still trying to slither into the shadows.
"Where do you think you're going?" I ask.
He freezes at my voice.
Slowly, painfully, he rolls onto his back and looks up at me.
His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with pain and fear.
Sweat pours down his face, mixing with the blood from his broken nose—Vanna's work, I realize with a surge of fierce pride.
My wife fought back.
Even here, even like this, she fought.
Good girl.
"Listen, man." Virgil's voice is strained, cracking. "Listen, we can work something out. I got money. Lots of money. I got connections—people who owe me favors. Whatever you want, whatever it takes?—"
"I want my wife back the way she was an hour ago." I crouch down beside him, letting the muzzle of my gun rest against his forehead.
The metal must be cold against his skin.
I hope it is. I hope he feels it all the way down to his soul. "Can you give me that?"
He doesn't answer.
His mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.
"I want to erase what you did to her." I press the gun harder, watching his eyes bulge. "Can you give me that?"
"I—I didn't—she's fine—I barely?—"
"Don't." The word comes out like a whip crack, sharp enough to make him flinch. "Don't you dare lie to me. I saw her. I saw what you did."
I stand up, holstering the gun.
I don't need it anymore.
What comes next requires something more personal.
Ruger and Coin move closer.
