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Chapter 15

Cole

My knuckles are torn up. Blood weeps from too many knife wounds. I’m still standing, fists up, ready to take down the next fucker that gets between me and Sunday, but I’m not sure how much longer I can last.

“Can’t we just shoot him?” Felton asks.

“He has information. I want it,” Michael responds. They’re both still seated at the table with the other guests, some taking bets on which of their bodyguards will land the blow that brings me to my knees.

Another man darts for me, and I lunge my upper body forward, my forehead connecting with his. He shouts and falls back, hands flying to his face as he loses his footing and collides with the dining table. I shake off the pain, wiping away the drip of blood running from my head to my chin.

“Come on, he isn’t even trying,” Felton yells. “This is fucking ridiculous!”

“Felton,” I say, remaining focused on my opponents. “Your dad is fucking Darcy.”

Michael huffs. “Wow. You think that’s how you’ll win this? By getting my own son to turn on me?”

“What do you think is going to happen once I’m dead?” I ask, just as another man runs at me. I grip his face and throw him into the ground, bringing my foot down on the back of his head. Something crunches, likely his nose, and he screams, flopping around. A small, fatty piece of meat falls from his squealing mouth—I think it’s part of his tongue. He crawls away, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

I continue. “You let me in. Your dad won’t forget that. He will never see you as anything other than—” Another attack, but this man lands a punch in my ribs, right where a knife was lodged earlier. I grunt, bringing my knee into his face and twisting his head. His neck snaps and I throw him into another man. “He will never see you as anything other than a fuck up. He’ll cut you out and he’ll take Darcy. Are you going to let him do that?” I look over at Felton. He’s glaring at me, jaw tight. “Get me out of this and you won’t see a second of jail time. You can take Darcy and go, I don’t give a fuck. It’s your dad I want, not you.”

Michael seems bored by my attempt at reasoning. “My son won’t turn on me. How much longer do you honestly think you’ll last, Cole? Sunday is probably already dead, so what are you even fighting for?”

I clench my fists. “She’s not dead.”

“Actually…” Darcy slinks into the room, a fire poker in her hand. The metal pole is slick, droplets of red dripping at her feet. “She’s a little dead. Sunday got her skull caved in.” She giggles, sliding the poker through her fingertips as she watches me. “Sorry, Cagey Boy.”

“No,” I say. “You’re lying.”

Darcy fishes into her bra and pulls out the lighter. The metal is smudged with blood, and she flicks open the lid. “Can I keep it, Cage?” The flame glows against her face, her smile spreading. “I promise I won’t break it.”

I should be choking on rage. Despair.

But the fight is stripped from me. Torn away.

Sunday is gone. My Sunday. My best friend who told me about her first crush being a cartoon character. The girl I kissed on the porch steps. The woman I fell in love with.

I’ve seen death. Caused it. Came close to it myself. My parents were killed in what the police called a mugging, but my young brain couldn’t accept or understand it, so I ran from it. I’m older now, supposedly wiser, and again I’m faced with losing someone who means the world to me.

No more memories made or shared. No more painted rice. No droplets of green and shapes traced on her skin.

Felton is out of his seat and grinning wide at Darcy, arms open. “My girl.”

She wiggles excitedly. “Are you proud of me, Felly?”

“So proud. You’re officially one of us.”

My body is still numb as I look between them. Darcy swings the poker around. “You weren’t the only one going through an initiation, Cagey Boy. I wanted to prove myself to Daddy and Felton. And I did, didn’t I?”

Michael nods, his smile proud. “More than enough, D.”

“And you know what’s even better?” she croons, stepping toward me, head tilted like a hungry lioness. “I know something you don’t know,” she sings, eyes impossibly wide. She licks some of the blood off the poker. Sunday’s blood. Why can’t I move? Why can’t I fucking kill this woman? “Daddy, there’s another rat. Another little rodent squeaking in people’s ears. And I know who it is.” She scrunches her nose up, wiggling it. She dances over to Felton, sliding her arm around his waist and resting her head on his chest as she watches me.

“Who is it, baby?” Felton asks.

Darcy keeps her eyes on me as she drags her fingertip across Felton’s shirt in the shape of a heart. My eyes snap to hers, and she winks.

“Me.”