Felix nods. “With pleasure.” He doesn’t open a computer. He doesn’t pull out any paper. Instead, he meets my eyes and says, “Right tibia.”
Wylan stops in front of Ric and grins. “Right tibia,” he repeats, and then slams the hammer down onto Ric’s right leg. Ric screams, the sounds so shrill, it hurts my ears.
“Left femur,” Felix says.
Wylan repeats his words again and slams the hammer into his left thigh. It takes three hits this time. The resounding snap makes my own bones hurt and I flinch as I’m reminded of the pain of such a break. It’s only on the third item on their list that I realize what they’re doing.
These are all bones I’ve broken before, that Ric broke while we were together. The list isn’t just a list. It’s my list. And they’re returning the favor.
“Both right and left clavicle,” Felix says.
Snap. Snap. Choked off screams of pain.
“Three metatarsal bones on the right hand,” Felix declares, his voice cold.
Wylan grins. “Kind of hard to do that when the fingers are hardly attached.”
Felix grins. “Then left radial.”
I wince with every hit despite knowing I’ve suffered each of these at this man’s hands. I’d spent a lot of the time lying to the hospital staff about what had happened. Clearly, Felix and Wylan had memorized the extensive list.
Wylan stands back to inspect his handy work, dropping the hammer to the concrete with a thud. He tilts his head, watching as Ric cries on the ground, sobbing, begging for the mercy he never gave me. This man threatened to kill Elsie. He probably would have killed the both of us if we hadn’t gotten out. He doesn’t deserve mercy. He doesn’t deserve anything.
Wylan comes over to me and slips his gun into my hands. “Last one is all you, crumpet,” he says gently, as if he’s not asking me to kill a man.
I hesitate to take the gun, but something inside me knows I need to do this. Ric will remain in the past after this moment, where he belongs. Elsie will be able to grow up without fear. I’ll be able to live without worrying about every phone call, every car driving by, every stranger. I need to do this. I have to.
I want to.
I carefully wrap my fingers around the grip and raise the barrel, aiming at Ric. My hand doesn’t shake like I expect, but I don’t pull the trigger, not yet. Two months ago, I wouldn’t have been able to do it, thinking myself so much better than him. And I am, I realize. I’m still better than this fucker despite now holding a gun aimed at his head. I don’t shake. I’m not afraid. Pure hatred fills me as my husband moves around on the floor, begging for me to spare him, promising to leave us alone. But that’s a lie. I know it’s a lie. He knows it’s a lie. If he walks away from this, he’ll come back again, and again, and again, until he gets what he wants.
It’s time I get what I want. Freedom. Peace. Safety.
And I’m going to make sure I walk out of this warehouse with those for the first time in years.
Wylan wraps himself around me, his hands coming up to steady my aim when I struggle. I’ve never shot a gun before, don’t really know how to aim, and I’m grateful that he’s here to help me. Dagen and Felix appear at our side, both of them touching me, all offering reassurance.
“That’a girl,” Wylan breathes in my ear. He walks me through the process, making sure the safety is flipped off, holding me to give me strength, his hand wrapping around my own to steady my hands. “Make him fucking pay for every time he put a hand on you.”
Make him pay. He’s right. He deserves this. And I’m going to give it to him.
Wylan’s hands engulf my own as he aims the barrel at Ric’s head. “Pretty girls don’t miss,” he purrs in my ear, his body warm against mine. “They hit dead center. Every. Single. Time.”
My lips tip up. “Pretty girls don’t miss,” I repeat.
“That’s right,” Wylan murmurs. “So, pull the trigger, pretty girl.”
I take a deep breath, release it. . .
. . . and squeeze the trigger.
Forty-Seven
Ava
I know money equals power, but I don’t think I fully understood what that meant until it came time to face reality.
I’d just killed a man.
