“No checking in. No calling. We aren’t celebrating any anniversaries. You see us coming your way in forty years’ time, cross the street. You contact any one of us and this goes straight to the police.”
Zach waggles the gun before my eyes, finally drawing my gaze. “Stay out of my way or I’ll break you.” With his free hand, he grabs my jaw, fingers digging in like the unyielding grip of a vice. His eyes bore into mine as he growls, “Say it.”
I try to work my mouth, but it’s locked in position.
He lets me go and wipes his fingers on his shirt, his tone almost friendly now. “Say you understand.”
I lick my lips. The spit in my mouth tastes like metal. Like I stuck my tongue against a nine-volt battery. My eyes dart back to the boy on the floor.
Robbie frowns.
I stare.
The gun dangles.
Zach grips my chin again in his steel fingers and twists my face to meet his. He raises the gun so I can see it from the corner of my eye. What did he say?
“I won’t tell anyone and I’m never going to contact any of you ever again,” I parrot obediently, some part of my brain having paid attention. “I understand.”
He reaches under my armpit to drag me upright. Even with the support, my feet feel mushy and don’t want to let me stand. Zach’s arm snakes around my waist again, ending with his fingers pressed hard against my belly button. I lean into his strength, waiting for it to be over. Waiting to feel something other than numb.
“We need to go, man,” Trent says. Caylon stands silently near the door. At some point, he closed it, shutting out the world. “I’ve messaged the clean-up crew, but we can’t be here when they arrive.”
Clean-up crew? There’s a team for this? I wonder if they have an 0800 number and the surrealism of that thought finally clears my head.
I shove one hand at Zach’s chest, using the other to snatch the gun. It’s easy. Held between finger and thumb, there’s no leverage. But he also lets it go. Letsmego. The supportive hand disappears, and he glides away, waiting to see what I’ll do.
My feet harden back into solid objects, and I stride over to where Robbie stares and frowns and frowns and stares. I shoot him in the face, again, again, again, pulling the trigger until the gun clicks with empty sadness and the features of the boy on the ground are nothing but pulp.
Like I said.
I’m not a good person.
CHAPTERTWO
LILAC
“What’s your flat like?”Sierra asks, her voice muffled as she whispers into the receiver. My baby sister’s call caught me off guard, coming close to when I have to leave the house. My first day at a new high school and it won’t look good to be late.
On the other hand, it’s been months since I heard from her outside of our scheduled visitation and I’m not about to hang up on the opportunity.
“It’s nice. Three bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room, and a shared kitchen-dinette.”
“Onebathroom?”
Her voice is incredulous and well it might be with three teenage girls sharing. “Don’t worry. We’ve apportioned the hot water.”
“Ugh. That sounds dreadful.”
“You would think that, snob.”
She laughs and I hear her foster mother’s sharp voice in the background a second before Sierra mutters, “Gotta go,” and the call disconnects.
As I replace my receiver, I feel the strange pull in my chest that only triggers when I interact with my sister. We’ve spent so much of her life apart that it’s hard to keep a connection. Yet, here I am, still struggling to forge a bond when everyone in the world would prefer if I let go.
I close my eyes, inhaling a deep breath.
Don’t worry. You’ve got this.
