In my head I’m calculating if I swung my arm out with the knife, would I reach him before he pulled the trigger? Would she forgive me? As much as I want him gone, I can’t risk the gun going off. Who knows where the crazy bastard will fire the next bullet? If it hits her, it’s game over.
“All right. I’ll go with you. You don’t need to kill him. He’s already dead to me.” She wipes her wet cheeks. Her face hardening, and I see my strong, fierce woman.
“Looks like she just bought you some time. I’ll be in touch, hunter.” Billy steps over the roots protruding from the ground, and I wish the fucker would trip as they both walk away.
She may not have pulled the trigger, but her words stabbed me in the heart. Playing them over and over in my head, the knife twists, digging deeper and cutting out her name that I carved there.
Billy follows her with a glare at me over his shoulder, warning me he hasn’t finished with me yet. Whatever he has planned can’t be worse than the hardened look his daughter gave me. All I can hope for now is to be put out of my misery like a lame dog.
Billy places his arm around her as she gives me one last look. Her dull green eyes seep like sap from a leaf, but there’s a hint of how she felt for me shining through, giving me a glimmer of hope.
My heart jolts back to life like it’s been zapped with a defibrillator. There’s life in the old dog yet. I take my belt off and strap it tight around my leg.
30
POPPY
More pieces shatter in my already broken heart as I walk away from the man I love. But it was all I could do to keep him safe. Dad places his arm around my back and I shrug him off like batting away a cockroach. “Don’t touch me. You don’t get to touch me and pretend you care after all these years.”
His lips turn into a thin line and he breathes heavily through his nostrils, but at least he stays silent and doesn’t attempt to touch me again. He better start talking soon if he expects me to stay in the same vicinity as him.
I’m still disorientated and have no clue which direction I’m headed. The man at my side looks like my dad, but it’s not the man I remember.
He tucks the gun inside his black overcoat. “I’m sorry,” he says, as if those words convey so much. A lifetime of regret, lies and sorrow.
“Where have you been?” My voice is weak. My eyes sting from the mascara running, mixing with my tears and all those I’ve yet to shed.
“I got sent down. Your mother cut all ties with me and took you on the run. It was for the best.”
“Best for who?” We arrive at a large wooden fence. My father walks along the edge feeling the fence panels. I can hear traffic beyond.
“For the both of you, for your protection. When my face hit the news and word got out about the jewellery heist, people would come for you, wanting to know where I hid the assets.”
“My necklace.” My hand wraps around my throat. All this time, it’s brought me nothing but heartache since I was a child. I’m glad to be rid of it.
“Yes. I gave it to your mother for safekeeping.” He slides open a loose panel and gestures for me to squeeze through.
I step over the bottom rail. The wood catches on my breasts and snags the fabric of my top, but it’s the least of my worries.
Billy follows, then a click like the unlocking of a car sounds behind me. He opens the passenger door to his BMW.
I hold the door, about to climb inside. “Will Dom be okay?”
Dad clenches his jaw. “For now.” He corners the car and slides in behind the wheel. “He got to you, huh?”
The tears threaten my eyes again. “I just don’t want his life to be on my conscience. Promise you won’t hurt him.”
Dad scowls but stays silent. “He was paid to find you, sweetheart. Find you and then find the necklace. That’s all. Don’t think he cares about your wellbeing.”
I refuse to believe that. If Dom wanted the necklace, he only had to ask. I would have given him everything I had. The engine purrs beneath us. The ride is smooth and quiet compared to my old rickety Fiesta and Dom’s Range Rover. Despite my father being an ex-convict, he looks every inch the businessman in black trousers, white collar, and black overcoat.
“Is that all Malcolm wanted? The necklace?” Slowly, I’m piecing this whole mess together.
“Aye, lass. The hunter should’ve killed him instead of keeping him fed and watered in his bloody boat house. Since when did the hunter grow a conscience?”
“You killed Malcolm?” The words leave my lips as soon as the thought enters my head.
“Someone had to. He killed your mother.” Billy’s fingers dig into the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white.
