“One child, and we put her in that house over there,” Silas says, pointing in the correct direction. “We gave her some earmuffs so she won’t have, like, trauma or whatever.”
“Trauma or whatever,” Hedy says, rubbing her eyeballs as teams from both helicopters begin splitting off and engaging with whoever’s left. “What the fuck have y’all done?”
“That little girl’s dad was a complete creeper,” Hopper says, checking his rifle. “When she gets older, she’s gonna thank us for killing him.”
“I’m sure she will, Hop.” Hedy looks defeated as she gestures to the piles on the ground. “Why did you have to kill everyone?”
Hopper and Silas share a look and then shrug as if the answer is obvious.
“I’m going to need your actual words, Hop,” Hedy says, and I can’t tell if she’s holding back rage or laughter.
“Because,” he says on a scoff, “Whitaker’s line ends here.”
“Duh,” Silas adds.
Hedy’s hand goes to her chest as she looks to the large house across the street from our position. “You haven’t killed Whitaker yet?”
“Keyword being yet,” Silas says, pointing out the large security force streaming out of the massive, multi-car garage.
Rolling her eyes, Hedy gives a brief gesture, and within seconds, my dads and uncles reduce the security detail to a red smear on green grass.
“Had to use the hollow points,” Sy mutters, reducing the bodies to ash. “Showoffs.”
Surrounded by high-end homes and carnage, Hedy lays into Hopper and Silas, reminding them in ways colorful and profane that everyone knows Whitaker is untouchable. That everything falls apart if he dies.
There’s an edge of desperation about the way she says it. Like maybe she knows it’s already too late.
Hopper isn’t convinced, and by the looks of it, neither is Silas, but they listen respectfully. Hedy is crazy smart and always sounds like she knows what she’s talking about. She’s also a bit long-winded, so she doesn’t notice an operative in black-out gear, his hair in a long braid, sneaking past the piles of ash into the house.
“Should we tell her?” Boone asks.
“That’s Dad,” I whisper out the side of my mouth. “I’m not getting between those two.”
Boone shivers. “Me either.”
A scream from Whitaker’s house stops Hedy’s soliloquy cold, and everyone turns. Dad’s dragging Preston Whitaker to the front yard. The expressions on our team’s faces are limited to various levels of stunned and horrified.
“Thank God. The sane twin.” Hedy wipes her forehead. “Odd hasn’t killed anyone in decades.”
“Maybe check your assumption,” Sy says, gesturing at Whitaker himself.
Whether or not my father has killed anyone recently, Whitaker is a bloody mess.
Dad searches the crowd and stops when he sees me. He puts his hand on his chest, and I mirror the gesture.
“Sorry, Hedy,” he calls out as he reaches for Whitaker’s jaw.
Boone grabs my forearm, and we watch in slow motion as Dad wrenches Whitaker’s neck several degrees in the wrong direction.
“No!” Hedy screams, shocked.
I don’t know what Whitaker did to make himself untouchable, but watching my dad break him so cleanly, I understand why Hedy was afraid. Dad might be more sane than Uncle Anders, but even he would say that Whitaker drew that target on his own back when he came after Boone and me. My father would agree that consequences were inevitable.
Dad lets Whitaker fall to the ground in a broken lump, dispassionate as the man struggles to breathe. This goes on for an uncomfortable amount of time, the wheezing and hitching audible from across the street.
That is…definitely not the first time he’s done that.
Shoulders drooping, Hedy orders the rest of the team to clear every house.
