29. Leni
29
LENI
This is ridiculous. Am I supposed to sit here all night, worrying myself half to death, jumping every time there’s a tiny noise outside?
Because that is exactly what I’m doing—ready to jump out of my skin, pacing my apartment like a crazy person as minutes turn to hours. Before long, it’s almost 12:30, and I haven’t gotten a text from either of them to let me know they’re still alive.
What are they doing? What’s happening? What if I’m right, and George was waiting for them? What if this is exactly what he wanted Colt to do? Because he didn’t know Nix is still alive, so he wouldn’t be expecting him. What if he hurts them both?
What if he does more than hurt them?
My heart seizes when footsteps in the hallway outside the apartment get louder. The gun sits on the coffee table—I haven’t been able to touch it since I left it there after the guys left. Do I need it? Should I grab it? Holding my breath, I listen as the sound gets louder, and louder… and softer as whoever it is keeps walking.
I can’t take this anymore.
Colt’s laptop sits open on the kitchen table, where he looked up the address earlier while we were waiting for pizza to be delivered. We actually sat and ate pizza while waiting for the right time for them to leave and do things I don’t want to think about. Like this was an ordinary night. The house is still pulled up on Google Maps—I type the address into my phone, shaking with fear but filled with determination. I’m not going to let them do this on their own, not when I’m part of the reason they went in the first place. Maybe they need my help.
Even if I wonder whether I would be able to shoot somebody if the time came. I guess that’s the kind of thing you just have to do in the moment. You can’t think about it beforehand.
Colt will be so happy to know I am finally driving my car. I guess this is as good a reason as any to get behind the wheel. The house is a short drive from the apartment, but that still gives me plenty of time to worry like hell and hope I’m not making the wrong choice by coming out here. Let them be okay. Let it already be over and let them be okay . Colt will probably be annoyed with me for taking a risk, but that is nothing compared to the terrible things that could possibly be happening.
Right away, I notice a car parked down the block from the end of the cul-de-sac that definitely does not belong here. Nix’s car. They must have left it here to keep from being noticed. I park in the next empty spot near the curb, kill the engine, and sit in silence for what feels like forever. Am I seriously doing this? I can’t turn back now.
It’s a cool night, and the air hitting my skin once I step out of the car makes me shiver. I shove my fists into the pockets of my hoodie and tuck my chin close to my chest, walking quickly the rest of the way to a set of open gates at the end of a wide driveway leading up to a house that sits above the others.
The grounds around the house are covered in trees, giving some privacy and cover for me to sneak up there without worrying about being spotted. There are no lights on in the front of the house, and I walk as quietly as I can around the outside, listening hard for anything coming from behind the walls.
The first beams of light I see comes from windows just above ground level, telling me they’re in the basement. Something inside me is almost too afraid to let me get any closer—my feet are rooted to the ground, and I’m shaking so hard it’s tough to walk a straight line. But this isn’t about me, it’s about them, and thinking about what they might be going through keeps me moving until I reach the window and lower myself to one knee, peeking inside.
I have to clamp a hand over my mouth to hold back my gasp. There are three people in there, two men and a woman, and the men take turns punching Nix while a bloody, bruised Colt watches. Nix spits blood onto his T-shirt and lifts his head, saying something I can’t hear with the windows closed. Whatever it is, it enrages the woman holding a gun on them—she shrieks something and motions with the gun like she wants to fire. One of the men has to be George, though I don’t know who the other one is. Not like it matters.
They’re going to kill them. Why else would they have them tied up like they are? I can’t just stand here and let that happen.
Now I rush, jogging to the back door with the gun tucked in my waistband, the way I saw Nix and Colt do it before they left. The back door is broken—that must be how they got in.
The kitchen is large but cluttered, messy, like it’s been neglected for a while. I hear voices coming from downstairs. The basement door is open next to the fridge, and I tiptoe toward it, careful in case there’s a squeaky floorboard or something else that would give me away. They’re obviously too busy down there to notice anything up here, though. Shouting, accusations, and pained groans from the sounds of flesh hitting flesh tell me the beating is still going on. I have to stop them. But how?
Footsteps ring out. Somebody’s coming up. With my heart in my throat, I tiptoe away, rounding a graceful archway separating the kitchen from the room beyond it. Everything is dark—not that I would care about the decor if the lights were on.
“Maybe it’s time to use the knives.” It’s the woman of the group, now standing in the kitchen. Knives? It’s enough to make my blood run cold. She’s puttering around in there, doing something at the sink—before coming my way.
I have to do something. I have to stop this!
She walks past the archway and doesn’t notice me standing in the dark—at least until she hears me draw the gun from my waistband and click the safety off and point it at her. All at once, she turns around, her mouth hanging open, and the light coming from the kitchen illuminates her eyes as they widen in understanding.
“Don’t say a word,” I warn through gritted teeth. I barely recognize my voice. “I want you to turn around and get on your knees, hands behind your head. Do it,” I go on, aiming at her head.
“If I scream, they’ll come running,” she whispers.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I have all these bullets. Do it.” Who am I? Oh, right. I’m a girl trying to save the men she loves.
She turns in a circle, lowering herself to her knees. “You’re going to regret this, you little slut. You’re going to be sorry.”
When she’s kneeling, her hands behind her head, I step up close behind her and touch the metal to her back. All I have to do is pull the trigger. That’s it. It’ll be so easy.
I can’t. I just can’t. How am I supposed to take a life?
“Don’t have the guts, do you?” she asks with snide laughter in her voice. “You only think you do.”
She’s right. I don’t have the guts to kill her.
But I do have the guts to pick up a lamp from a table close by and bring it down on top of her head.
It’s not so much the breaking of the lamp that’s loud. It’s the way her unconscious body hits the floor with a heavy thud that sets off rapid footsteps coming up the basement stairs.
“Cecilia?” a man asks. “What happened?”
I don’t think—I react, spinning in place and meeting him in the kitchen by the time he reaches the top of the stairs. All it takes is our eyes meeting from across the room for me to know who he is. Deborah looked a lot like her dad.
There’s a second that might as well be an eternity when we stare at each other. Time stops. There’s nobody but the two of us, locked in a staring contest.
Before he lunges.
And I fire. Like magic, a wound appears on his thigh, which begins oozing blood that soaks into his jeans.
“Shit!” he barks, stumbling backward, pressing a hand to the wound, not stopping until it’s too late. Until his eyes bulge even wider, his mouth falls open, and he reaches out to grab the doorframe to keep himself from tumbling backward down the stairs.
He’s too late.
The sound of him falling is loud enough to make me cringe and wince as he hits every step on the way down. When I work up the guts to go to the top of the stairs, I look down at where he landed and stare in sickened disbelief.
He’s lying on his stomach but looking up at me. His head is twisted in a way it shouldn’t be.
He broke his neck. He’s dead.
It’s like I split in half on the spot. One half of me is horrified, ice filling my veins, nausea twisting my stomach. He wouldn’t be dead if I hadn’t shot him. I am responsible for his death when I look at it that way.
The other half stares down in triumph. Grim satisfaction tugs at the corners of my mouth until I’m smirking down at the bastard who was beating Nix when I first looked through the basement window. I wouldn’t have shot him if he wasn’t doing this, if he hadn’t made a move like he wanted to hurt me. He got what he deserved.
When the other man—who I’m now guessing is George—rushes to him and stands over his body, I train the gun on him.
“Don’t move!” I shout. Again, I don’t recognize the voice coming from me, just like I don’t recognize the thrill of watching disbelief play over his face when he looks up at me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He’s almost laughing, like he doesn’t believe what he sees. “Making our job easier? Because you’re next. Don’t think you aren’t.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about when you say ‘our job,’” I reply, slowly walking down the stairs, watching his every move—every twitch of his jaw, every direction his eyes travel. “Because it looks like he’s dead, and the woman upstairs is unconscious. Maybe even worse—I hit her pretty hard.”
“Cecilia?” His voice has a note of desperation that only grows louder when he calls her name again.
“I told you. Back away,” I warn, and I have to force my hands to be steady as I reach the basement floor, stepping over the body lying at the foot of the stairs.
“Leni,” Colt grunts.
I don’t dare look his way. I don’t trust this guy in front of me. He looks unhinged, and now he knows he’s in this alone.
“Untie them,” I demand, jerking my head in their direction while staring at the sweating man who tried to run Colt down. “George, is it?”
“Yeah,” he grunts. “And you can get fucked, bitch.”
“Things not to say to a woman holding a gun on you,” Nix quips, because even now he has to be a smart-ass and pretend there’s nothing seriously messed up about this situation.
“Fine. I’ll do it myself. But don’t you move,” I warn, backing away from George toward the chairs where the guys are tied up.
“There are knives over there,” Colt tells me, nodding toward a small table under the window. I couldn’t see it from where I was looking in earlier—there are a few of them lined up in a row, telling me how tonight was supposed to end before I got here. I grab one at random, holding the gun in one hand while using the knife on Nix’s ropes.
“How’s it going there?” George asks.
There’s a crazed look in his eyes. He has sweat through his shirt, big dark stains under his arms and around his collar. My gaze keeps moving back and forth between him and the ropes, since I’m afraid I’m going to cut Nix in the process. “Not that easy, is it?” he asks with a snide laugh.
“That’s right, keep talking,” Colt tells him. “Wait until I cut your fucking tongue out.”
“Her hand is shaking. The gun is shaking,” George taunts while I saw at the ropes as carefully as I can, while also trying to move fast. The longer I take, the more of a chance this will end badly.
The damn rope is so tough to saw through, like it’s defying me the harder I try.
“Stop!” Colt barks, making me train my full attention on George, who has crept a little closer.
“Shoot the fucker!” Nix shouts. “Fucking kill him!”
I have to, don’t I? I know I have to.
“She won’t do it,” George predicts, scoffing. “She doesn’t have it in her. She’s a stupid slut, but she’s not a fucking psycho like you two.”
“Do it!” Nix urges.
He’s right. I have to.
But George is too fast. He throws himself across the room, startling me into dropping the knife and fumbling with the gun until it’s too late. He’s already on top of me, knocking me to the floor.
The gun slides away, out of my reach, but it’s the hands he wraps around my neck that are the bigger problem.
I hear Nix and Colt shouting and struggling while I claw at George’s hands, desperate for air as he presses hard against my windpipe. My eyes bulge, and an ugly, croaking noise comes out of me when I open my mouth, fighting desperately to suck in a breath.
His crazed face fills my world when he leans down over me. “Was it worth it?” he demands while the world starts to go out of focus. “Was it? You don’t know how I have dreamed about this! Die, die like my boys died!”
I think I’m going to.
Colt shouts my name while I kick and claw, but it’s no use. I’m too weak. He’s too strong.
He’s killing me.
I’m dying.
Life is slipping away while he shakes me, crushing my throat.
Mom. I’m coming.
All at once, the pressure eases, and I suck in a gulp of air.
The world comes back into focus in time for me to watch Nix hook his hand under George’s jaw and pull it back sharply—before he drags the knife across his throat.
A sudden rush of warmth sprays across me.
I barely have time to feel it before I realize what it is—the same dark red, sticky liquid pouring from the wound, pumping with every beat of George’s heart. His eyes bulge, his hands cover the slit in his throat, while Nix holds him in place wearing a look of triumph. “She doesn’t have it in her, but I sure as fuck do,” he announces to the dying man.
The world goes fuzzy again, and this time, there’s nothing to stop me from succumbing to the darkness when it rushes in all at once.
If anything, I welcome it.