Chapter 9
NINE
Harry
I’m torn in two directions. My head screams at me to give Gigi the distance she needs and the opportunity to seek the answers she craves. The answers she deserves. But my heart shouts louder, desperate to run after her and protect her from the dangers she might face.
The middle finger directed right at me through the security camera made me smug for merely a second, yet the minute she closed the door and disappeared out of sight, I was already mounting my Harley.
The roads are suspiciously quiet at this time of night, as if I’m being given a saving grace to race to the house as fast as possible. Yet with each mile closer to the Thomas family home, the nearer I get to vomiting in my helmet. Will she still be there? Christ, will she be all right?
I just fucking pray she thought better of her anger and hasn’t inflicted pain on her mother. But who am I to share my opinion on violence when I smashed Pete’s head into a bloody pulp only yesterday?
Each thought has me revving the gas harder, racing down the streets through the increasing downpour, until I’m skidding to a stop outside the house.
The headlights of the bike line my path, shining through the bay window.
I keep the engine running, kicking on the stabiliser as I rest the helmet on the driver’s seat and dismount.
Everything is quiet. Suspiciously so. Even a step forwards seems too loud. But I saw Gigi enter the home, and that’s enough motivation for me to head up the driveway and twist the handle of the front door, stepping inside.
It’s bitterly cold as I enter, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.
The house is silent, save for a low whistle emitting from the back of the house.
I follow the noise slowly, casting my gaze into each room.
But the back door steals my attention as it swings off its hinges …
as though someone left in a hurry. It moves violently with a heavy gust of wind, the wood slapping the outside brick wall and echoing through the home.
I pull the door closed and turn the lock. The second it’s sealed shut, the thick stench of blood invades my senses. When you’ve been doing this job for as long as I have, there’s nothing more distinguishable than the scent of death. And this house reeks of it.
It’s so unbelievably still that no living person could possibly remain here, yet an overwhelming sense of panic forces the word out of me. “Gigi?”
I might as well have not said anything with how loud my ears ring. The whole house seems to be high-pitched screaming.
I anxiously approach the living room, rounding the corner, only to be confronted by William.
Though he’s as dead as I’ve ever seen him, which is ironic given he had the personality of a fish.
I don’t feel an ounce of remorse at the sight of him lying dead on the hardwood floors, a gaping hole in the centre of his chest where something impaled him.
A gun rests in his palm. But the more concerning factor is the path of blood – a trail leading from the cream rug, now drenched crimson, to William’s body, then off in the direction of the kitchen.
I don’t know how I’ll cope if Gigi’s hurt, even if I betrayed her before. But this is far different. This is a regret I’ll never recover from, knowing I willingly let her enter this house – watched her enter – without being by her side.
Richard could be here any moment, if he isn’t already. And the thought alone that I’ll have an advantage over him, over Gigi’s possible whereabouts, has me striding into the kitchen. I step onto the tiled floors and follow that scarlet trail to where it rounds the corner of the kitchen island.
Something – no, someone. Someone lies there, legs spread out in front of them, emitting a bloody puddle from their body. My palms are sweating, my pulse racing as I gain each step closer.
Heart practically in my throat, I turn the corner.
Jesus Christ.
Maria, Gigi’s mum, rests loosely against the counter, a knife clutched in her palm at her side. I brace my hand against the marble countertop, needing to hold myself up. Something foul, something like acid, burns the back of my throat.
Betrayal and disbelief curl through me. She hurt her mother in as gruesome a murder as any. This feeling that tightens my chest isn’t anger; this is grief, burning. It’s fucking wrong.
I thought I’d seen the worst of Gigi, but this is an act of hatred I refuse to recognise.
I pinch the bridge of my nose tightly. “Fuck.”
My gaze moves over Maria’s body once again, taking in her pale, ghostly white skin, made clear through the low light from the living room. Her eyes are barely open, glazed and distant. I’d think she were dead if her head wasn’t lolling towards me.
“Richard?” she croaks, weakly attempting to lift the weapon. “I … I’ll k-kill you.”
I rush into a crouch on the floor, carefully lifting her body. The knife moves from her palm, the metal rattling against the tiles as it slips from her pale fingers. Her dark hair, impossibly similar to Gigi’s, is now matted with blood and fans across my lap.
“It’s not Richard,” I say softly.
Her pupils wander upwards slowly, towards my face, and a smile of recognition graces her mouth.
Her lips move.
I lean down, trying to hear her clearer. “What is it?”
“She … she f-forgives me.”
I force a cough to mask the flood of relief. It wasn’t her. Gigi didn’t cause this. But the solace turns stale quickly, morphing into devastation.
Maria croaks, “Harry?”
“Yes?”
“I know … y-you always … loved her—”
A long, low gurgle catches the back of her throat. A cough whips through her, blood staining her teeth and slipping from the corners of her mouth as she nears death.
“It’s okay,” I tell her quietly.
Something gathers just behind her breath, like the body’s last attempt to hold on. A rough inhale, almost like a faint whistling, comes with a dragging resistance.
I’ve heard the death rattle, but never like this. The desperation to hold on for just a moment longer almost sounds like drowning. As though her lungs are folding inwards and her body doesn’t know how to let go.
“M-make them pay … f-for what they did to my children.”
“I will.”
She doesn’t respond. Just one more breath – longer this time, almost peaceful – and then nothing.