Haunted by Secrets (Shadowed Souls #3)

Chapter Forty Four

“What’s the game?” I ask, entering myself into the conversation. Wyatt glares, but I ignore him. I can’t sit here helpless, just another bystander while he and Avery act like this isn’t all of our fight. We’ve all been in this from the start, dragged into their family drama through association.

Harrison grins, reveling in the power we’re giving him. He spins the gun in smooth circles on the felt table and then snatches it up, clicking the chamber open and showing us all the shining bullet sitting inside one of the six compartments. Once satisfied he’s played his part, he flicks it shut and grins.

“A take on Russian roulette. I’m sure you all know how to play blackjack.” He drawls, clearly uncaring either way. We all shoot a look around the table, all too familiar with this game. Or so we thought. “Too bad if not. The winner of each round gets to elect who takes the shot. When the bullet has found its host, the rest of you can walk free.”

“And if we don’t comply?” Wyatt asks, his jaw tight. Harrison rolls his eyes dramatically, the scar fading into his hair and catching the dim light.

“Then you all die. But it’s much less fun and far more clean up.”

I open my mouth, demanding the girls are left out of this, but Avery is quicker.

“We want to see her first.” Harrison’s attention on her is long enough to be considered uncomfortable, trying to glean an answer to a question only he knows. Then, with a sinister grin, he turns to his men lined all the wall and speaks with an amused drawl.

“Bring them in.”

Two men disappear through a door at the back of the room. A stilted silence falls over us, Avery’s eyes cemented on that door with all her hopes pinned on whoever returns. She’s been waiting so long, only to be let down repeatedly.

My breath is hindered, my heartbeat pounding a brutal rhythm against my ribs. It’s in my nature to step up, to put myself in the firing line for my men. But from my position on the side, I’m merely a bystander, unable to reach Avery and Axel should they need protecting. Instead, I can just grip my thighs, forcing my sweaty hands to stop shaking. Seconds later, the men return, dragging her between them. Meg .

My stomach lurches, and suddenly, Avery is moving, shooting up from her chair. Wyatt is the one who catches her before one of the suited henchmen does, the man at his back allowing him to ease Avery back into her seat forcibly. He mutters in her ear harsh words that could save her life. We need to be rational here and wait out Harrison’s game if we all want to leave afterward, Meg included.

The men don’t linger, heading out back as soon as Meg is placed in the chair at my side, and fuck, she looks awful. Her hair is tangled, hanging in loose brown waves over her shoulders. Her rags look like they used to be a pair of leggings and a sports top, but there are more slices in the fabric than closed seams. Her skin holds hundreds of minor lacerations through those gaps, all recent. Like a tiny switchblade has nicked her over and over, a slow and tedious torture.

Dark circles carve shadows beneath her hollow eyes, and her skin is ghostly pale. The once-bright, defiant girl I knew is gone, replaced by something brittle, something worn down to the bone. She doesn’t meet anyone’s gaze.

When the door opens again, I hardly pay attention until Wyatt’s sharp gasp lifts my head. A man is being carried in and dragged around the back of all of us, his suit torn, dirty, and disheveled. Nixon is slumped in the chair beside Axel, his lip split and bloodied, bruises forming like ink blots along his cheekbone. His hands rest limply on his lap, although there’s tension in his shoulders and a flicker of rage beneath his exhausted expression. He’s hurt, but not broken.

Harrison leans back against the far wall with a contented sigh, pleased with the setup he’s created. In one fell swoop, he managed to get all of the people Fredrick was chasing in the same room. He nods at the dealer to begin the game, who pulls out a chair and sits opposite us all. The cards are dealt, landing smooth and crisp in front of me: Dax, Wyatt, Avery, Garrett, and Axel. The two newcomers are spared from playing, but I doubt the courtesy will be extended regarding the punishments for losing. Avery’s eyes flick to Meg once more, her attention unsettled. It’s killing her to be so close but not to be able to hug her twin. What’s worse is that Meg won’t even look at her.

For both Meg’s and Avery’s sake, I have to focus. I have to win.

A nine is placed before Wyatt, an ace for Dax, and a ten of spades for me. The cards in front of Avery, Garrett, and Axel remain just out of my sight. The dealer places another ace in front of himself with a smirk. The tension is thick, interrupted by the faint wheezing coming out of Nixon’s bloodied lips. The jack of diamonds placed in front of Dax names him the winner of the round. He looks Harrison in the eye as the ex-con twirls the revolver in his hand, inhaling deeply.

“You,” Dax states coldly. Harrison expects as much, flipping the gun around and bracing it against his temple. He doesn’t hesitate to pull the trigger, a dull click leaving him smirking. He drops the weapon back on the table, far enough out of our reach but close enough to be threatening. We go again, fresh cards being slid our way.

The dealer’s voice cuts through the air, naming totals and flipping cards. My mind is a blur of numbers and panic, of strategy and dread. The house wins the next round, meaning Harrison has won. His grin splits wide enough to reveal a few golden teeth. The gun is snatched up in his hand in the next second. He raises it and points it directly at Avery.

The Souls at the table, myself included, try to rise, all shouting that we’ll take the shot instead. The goons behind each of our chairs use brutal force to get us back under control, and through it all, Avery sits still and straight, her eyes fluttering closed. The trigger is pulled, a click reverberating through the room. The silence that follows is deafening. My pulse roars in my ears, and a brutal drumbeat hits my skull. Somehow, I find myself back in my seat.

After that, we all reach for our cards with trembling fingers, jarred by the casualness of this madman. Fredrick was a psychopath in his own right, but it became evident in the end that he wouldn’t hurt Avery. He had many chances but left her alone towards the end, shifting his focus elsewhere. Despite never meeting him, I genuinely believe that had the occasion come, we could have reasoned with Fredrick and bargained for her life.

Harrison is far more dangerous. He has no reason to be here other than a sense of being owed something in return for the years he’s wasted at Fredrick’s side. Currently, he’s invested in what cards are being artfully flung around, determining our fate. His fingers twist the revolver round and round in circles against the felt tabletop. I try not to look down the end of the barrel each time it flicks past me, all too familiar with the devastation that follows a tug of the trigger. The circular scar on my collarbone, which hasn’t been a nuisance in the longest time, suddenly throbs.

A four of hearts is dealt to Dax next and a seven to me. I keep my poker face solid, not betraying the rising panic for Dax’s hand. I know he isn’t a blackjack fan, but we’ve played enough over the years for him to make a rational decision. The dealer lays a face-down card next to his five and leans forward on the table, linking his fingers beneath his chin. For a seemingly irrelevant employee from the casino, he’s enjoying this a little too much. I wonder how much he’s being paid.

“I’ll stick,” I say first, looking over to Dax with raised brows. Come on, you’ve got this. There’s still hope.

“Hit me,” he breathes, a quiver in his tiny voice that has Wyatt tensing. Picking the top card from the deck, the shining silver bridge logo stamped across that too, the dealer slowly leans forward and turns it at the last moment to reveal the ten of spades. Bust . Harrison watches over it all with interest; his lips curved into a wicked smile that has my teeth grinding together, the urge to leap across the table and strangle the bastard overwhelming. But men as powerful as him always have a second in command, briefed and ready to step into his vacant spot and continue his work just as he’s done with Fredrick.

As the dealer flips over his last card, all my breath leaves my body. I win. “ You,” I repeat Dax’s choice. Another quick click of the trigger leaves Harrison beaming. We’re down to three more chances. Playing on is agony; the weight of the cards in my hand starts to feel like lead.

I’m out quickly in this round, left to watch the other make bold or stupid choices to stick or hit. While Garrett is chewing on his inner cheek, prolonging his choice, I glance at Meg. She is staring at the floor, her face blank, her shoulders curled inward. Like she’s already made peace with whatever fate is waiting for her. I refuse to accept that.

Shifting my shoe forward, I nudge her bare foot. She doesn’t respond, having retreated into her own mind, protecting herself from the anarchy happening around her. I suppose if she can’t hear or see us, she won’t feel the same distress that Avery obviously does. I hear Wyatt mutter her name, bringing my attention back to the game.

“Avery, it’s your turn,” Wyatt tries again. She barely hears him. She can’t tear her eyes away from her twin. Wyatt touches her knee, trying his best to bring her focus back to the table, and it’s permitted this time. Swallowing hard, Avery’s empty eyes glance over the cards in her hand. She sticks despite only having a total sum of six. Her mind can’t carry on, pretending that someone’s life in this room isn’t hanging in the balance.

As the others gamble too highly without reward, Wyatt sits across from the dealer; his focus zeroed in on the next card is flipped. The dealer leers as if he has a personal feud here, his lip curling when he goes bust. Wyatt exhales, his green eyes settling on Harrison’s face. For the first time, I see something shift in Harrison’s expression. Annoyance. He knows he’s running out of chances to walk out of here.

Lifting the revolver, Harrison rolls his neck and lifts it to his temple as Wyatt speaks, his voice flat and emotionless.

“Nixon.”

A collective inhale shakes the room. Nixon stiffens beside Axel, his battered body still having enough strength to react. His bruised jaw tightens, and his hands clench into fists on his lap. He should have seen this coming. We all should have.

The tension is suffocating, pressing down on my chest like an iron weight. I know Wyatt hates his father, or adoptive father, I suppose, but to choose to end his life over an ex-convict who is threatening our girl? There’s no one I couldn’t forgive at this moment, just to ensure Avery’s safety. The blonde has twisted in her seat to watch Wyatt closely, but the string of pleading for mercy doesn’t come. She doesn't say anything in favor of the man who admittedly loved and cherished her the way a father should for the last eleven years. The realest father she’s known.

My eyes flick between the revolver, Wyatt’s rigid expression, and Harrison’s surprised grin. Harrison lets out a low chuckle, the sound slithering up my spine.

“Bold choice,” he muses, rolling his wrist to point the end of the barrel toward Nixon’s slumped head. Nixon exhales slowly. He doesn’t beg. Doesn’t even flinch. Avery’s hands grip the edge of the table, her knuckles white. Wyatt keeps his gaze locked on Nixon, unreadable and unmoving. Harrison leans forward slightly, his lips curling, his eyes gleaming with something far worse than amusement.

Then he pulls the trigger, and the gun fires. A crack rips through the silence. Deafening and absolute.

Nixon slumps forward, his body lurching before it’s caught by Axel, who surges up despite the bruises along his ribs. Blood spatters across the table, over the deck of cards still in play, over the green felt that is meant for wagers and cheap entertainment. Not this.

Avery screams, her hands flying to cover her ears. I doubt she thought it would actually fire; the injustice of it all splattered crimson across the far wall. The round had the bullet primed; the bullet was meant for Harrison.

Whether by the gunfire or Avery’s scream, Meg flinches so violently, her chair scrapes backward. A ragged sound tears from her throat as her body jerks to life, no longer trapped in whatever hollow place she’s been buried in. She gasps, chest heaving, eyes wild. They are so much like Avery’s but duller, clouded. For the first time, she looks at her twin sister. Locking their gaze, the screaming stops, their chests heaving with so much that needs to be said, but there’s no time.

The thud of the revolver is dropped on the table, its dull metal catching the light. I don’t know where to look or what to do. Now that the shot has been fired, we can leave, right? But the rough hands of the ex-cons behind our seats wouldn’t suggest that is the case.

Despite the nauseating scent of gunpowder still clinging to the air, I struggle to put the facts together. Struggle to come to terms with how fast Nixon went from being here, alive and breathing one second, and gone the next. It was so quick, so final. I glance at Meg again, instinctively reaching for her panicked, shivering body. My hand is swiftly hit with the butt of a gun, which is then turned and pressed against my head.

“Don’t fucking move,” my personal goon spits. “We’re not done here.” I freeze in place. My entire being starts and ends where the circular barrel is pushing at my temple, memories of the bullet slicing through my shoulder. Except this time, if the gun is shot, I wouldn’t even feel it. I’d be like Nixon, here and then gone. Alive and then not, in a split second, leaving Avery and my brothers behind. A singular thought rounds my mind on a continuous loop. I’m not ready to die.

Harrison watches us all, his mouth tilted at an angle. Opening the chamber of his revolver, he puts a fresh bullet in and spins before snapping it closed.

“We go again,” he announces coldly. Terror filters through me, and I manage to scowl at Wyatt. The hollering picks up again, my brothers yelling to call Harrison a cheat or complain that it’s unfair. As if any of it's fair, as if Harrison was ever going to stick to his own rules. We should have killed him when we had the chance, but now I’m the one with a heavy metal weight pressing against my head. Dully, I come to comprehend that there weren’t any rules to begin with. Whether by Harrison or one of the men working for him, we would never leave once we entered this room.