Page 110 of Dirty Legacy

“Dad!” I scream, voice echoing off the warehouse. “Deck, damn you! Dad! Don’t do it!”

Marcus and his team are streaming toward us from the fence line. Marcus’s voice is calm in my ear, telling me they’re ten seconds away, but it’s too much. I start shooting as Deck’s soldiers raise their weapons and open fire.

“DAD!”

My voice is rough from screaming as I race toward them. Dad’s down on the ground as the gunfire keeps going. None of them hear me as I approach. Deck’s the only one without a weapon, gazing down at my father with a grim sadness, like he didn’t want it to be this way.

I kill two soldiers. The third I shoot in the knee and kick his gun away. Marcus hits from the other side, taking down the men near Deck. I have a moment where I lock eyes with Deck and he stares at me in horror, only belatedly realizing what’s happening, the damn fool.

I charge him. Fury rips into me, rage and hell burning in my core. I slam into Deck and he tries to fight me, but I take him to the ground, a knife sliding from the sheath at my hips. I drive it once into Deck’s chest, again into his belly, screaming as I do it.

“You didn’t have to!” I roar in his face. “You motherfucker! You didn’t have to! You didn’t have to!” I stab him, over and over, blood splattering my face and hands. Deck gags, gasping, hands scrambling at my face, until I drive the tip into his throat and put all my weight behind it. “You bastard. You fucking bastard. You deserve worse.”

Deck bleeds out and his eyes go dim.

I kneel on my cousin. His corpse warm still. I want to keep pummeling him, but exhaustion overtakes me. I release the knife and slump backwards, breathing hard, gasping. Marcus crouches beside my father, checking him for wounds as our soldiers make sure Deck’s men are down for good.

“Marcus. Please. Tell me.” I crawl to him over the blacktop. “Marcus⁠—“

“He’s breathing.” Marcus turns to me, grim-faced. “But it’s bad.”

“Get out of the way.” I shove the back door of the car open. “I’m taking him to the hospital.”

“They won’t let you leave. Not with this many bullet wounds. They’ll have questions.”

“I don’t fucking care!”

“Damn it,” Marcus says under his breath as I get my father into the back of the car.

He’s hit in multiple places. The vest saved him from the worst, but it took half a dozen strikes. His legs are bloody, his lower back, his arms. His breathing is shallow. “I got you, Dad. I got you.”

“Let me.” Marcus pulls me back from the car. I try to shake him free, but he shoves harder. “Damn it, Connor, we need you free. Take Deck to Sinead. Finish this fucking nightmare.”

“Marcus—“

“And bail me out of prison, for fuck’s sake.” Marcus gets behind the wheel of my father’s car. “Don’t stand there gawking. I got to fucking drive!”

“Thank you.”

He slams the door, hits the gas, and peels out. I watch him go, our soldiers standing around watching the corpses grimly. Once the car is gone, I walk over to Deck’s body and kneel beside it.

Slowly, carefully, with a kind of loving grace, I start sawing at his neck.

33

CONNOR

It’s a humid morning in New Jersey. The bench is wet but it doesn’t bother me too much. A few older folks wander down paths while aides help them along. The building behind me is big and beautiful, lots of pretty landscaping. I sit with a bag at my feet, mostly ignored by the people around me.

She comes out after a while carrying two steaming paper cups of coffee. I accept one with thanks and wipe off the seat beside me. Her nose wrinkles, but she sits.

“Dad’s settling in,” Sinead says, looking back at the building. “It’s strange, coming here. He knows on some level that he won’t ever leave again, but he’s not talking about it.”

“Do you want him to?”

“I’m not sure.” She sips her coffee. “Where do you want to die when it happens?”

“Home surrounded by my five kids and my ten grandkids.”