A commotion has me focusing back on the collection of men in front of me, Smith and another guard hauling a small man with a receding hairline and glasses away from the others, his shouts ignored by everyone left at the table.
This must be my job for the night.
I follow the guards out back as they get the man trussed up and shoved in the trunk, Falk sliding into the car beside me while the other two take the front.
The drive out to the cabin is familiar, even if a few of the landmarks have changed since the last time I was out this way.The crunch of gravel under the tires has the haze trying to take me over, the realization that we’re almost there ingrained in me, affecting my body before I can stop it.
But I breathe. I breathe so carefully, Falk gives me a good, long stare. Then he nods. Like he’s proud of me for trying my damnedest not to get lost in the adrenaline. Like keeping myself from hiding from the horror I’m about to enact is a positive.
Maybe it is. But it sure as shit doesn’t feel like it.
The other two haul the small man into the cabin. Falk waits with me outside. “It’s been a while,” he says.
“Not so long,” I say, remembering Bryce’s blood on my knuckles.
“Long enough.”
I lean back against the side of the car, staring up at the stars, the hot humid air suffocating in my formal wear. I pull off the jacket, tossing it in the car, adding the dress shirt and my watch too, leaving me in just my undershirt and Cucinelli slacks. Such a waste.
With a glance over his shoulder and a tilt of his chin, Falk walks into the woods a bit, and I follow him, knowing the game. Once we’re away from any visible cameras, and knowing my father isn’t one for bugging random bits of forest, he turns to me. “I’m assuming you didn’t just come back for shits and giggles. You’re up to something.”
Falk is on the list of people who, while not an enemy, isn’t an ally either. So, I just shrug.
“I don’t know what you’re up to, but either way, you should have left the girl out of it. You know the way your dad is with women.”
“Who’s to say she had a choice?” I ask, testing the waters.
Falk spits at the ground in front of my feet. “I thought you were better than that, Archie.”
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.” Closing my eyes, not blaming him for his anger, I lean back against the nearest trunk, debating if it’s time to drop breadcrumbs. “But call me Trips in private. Not Archie. And coming back was her choice. Despite my arguments against it.”
Silence greets this tiny piece of truth, but I don’t open my eyes to see if he buys it. He wouldn’t, not yet, so there’s nothing there to see.
His sigh confirms that assumption. He pushes me out of the woods, his hand hot on the back of my neck, a show for father. The other two guards come out of the cabin, Smith lighting up a cigarette as he leans against the rails of the porch. “Taking my job, kid?”
I sneer at him, knowing I have to play top-dog with this vermin. “No, you took mine. Now that I’m back, any blood you want to draw? Know I get first dibs.”
The man laughs, like I’m full of shit, but Falk just shoots the guy his own monster’s grin. “You laugh now, Smith. You’ll see.”
“Warning?” I ask, rolling my shoulders, trying to figure out how to get in the headspace for this without totally disconnecting from reality.
“Dead,” Smith bites out, a challenge in his eyes.
Fuck. I knew I’d be punished for leaving. My hands were never lily-white, but killing was always relegated to someone my father considered expendable. I’d been in the room when dozens of men and women had breathed their last. But I’d never been the one to take that last breath from them.
Maybe I’m expendable now, too, nothing but a stud horse and executioner. And I have no idea if that is better or worse than being half of a two-headed hydra meant to take over my father’s kingdom.
Ignoring the men behind me, I walk into the room, noting the camera is still in the northwest corner, that the floor is evendarker and more rank than it was when I was last in here, and that the smell of fresh piss coats the air.
I can’t blame the man. I know my father is going to want this bloody. Snapping his neck, a merciful kill, isn’t an option. And it’s not like I’ve been trusted with a gun or a knife.
This will be a bloodbath. A torturous, terrifying way to end your days. And I’m stuck as the vessel of that destruction.
The rage that billows in my chest burns to an inferno at the injustice of this whole thing. The man whimpering in front of me, promising that he won’t tell anyone, that he’ll stay silent, he has a wife and kids, he’s done nothing wrong. Most likely, he’s a man of conscience, willing to stand up to those in power, to fight for what’s right. Only those in power control me too, and there’s no easy out. Clara’s in that house, and if I fuck this up, she’ll be the one to pay with her blood on the floor, my father’s anger only sated once she’s unable to get back onto her feet.
With no other options, I march up to this small man with a big heart, grip what little hair he has, and put my mouth right next to his ear. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got a girl of my own, and it’s you or her. The best I can do is knock you out quickly, so you don’t suffer. Is that the way you want to go?”
Stepping back, I wait for his sad little nod, even as he continues to proclaim his innocence. I can’t save him. But I can save him from the worst of it. I slam my fist into his temple, one, two, three, four times before he finally slumps over. Out. The only mercy I’m allowed to give.
