31. Ruby
Samuel is such a quiet sleeper that I have to check if he’s still breathing from time to time. I told him we should sleep in my bed because it’s bigger, which is true, but it also means that my bedsheets will smell like him.
A look at my clock confirms that it’s 3:33am, and whenever I wake up at that time, it means nothing good. Half an hour later, this theory is once again confirmed as I hear a car turn into the driveway.
From the way the gravel sounds under the wheels and the sound the door makes when it’s being closed, I can identify who it is.
It feels like someone has their hand around my throat, and not in a good way. I don’t want to wake Sam, so I lift his arm up and turn around until I’m snuggled so close to his chest that I can barely breathe.
His deep breaths help to calm me down, at least a bit. And I promised myself to cherish the time I have left with him, especially now that it’s probably over in a few hours.
I try not to cry because if I end this day in prison, I don’t want to look like shit on my mugshots.
When the first rays of sunshine peek through the blinds, I’m up. I pace around the room like a headless chicken and it’s only when Sam groggily asks me what’s wrong that I stop.
“My father is back. Heard his car last night,” I say more to myself than to him, biting the skin off of my lip. I’m slightly startled as huge arms wrap around me, trapping me in place. I’ll never get used to his ninja-like movements.
“Darling, don’t freak out now, please. You just need to keep your cool, remember?” He holds me close, his hands sliding underneath my shirt to stroke over my skin.
He is right. We talked all of this through. How I’m going to strike up a conversation with my father while Sam waits outside the room, just in case. How he’s going to record the whole thing with a concealed microphone he hid behind that stupid elephant tusk on the day we cleaned up the office.
I just need to get my father to drop the name of his business partner and then the thing is done.
And then the thing is done.
All of this admittedly seemed easier when it was still in the future. The guilt is back, louder than before, especially because my nervous antics are mostly rooted in the fact that I don’t know what’s going to happen between me and Sam after all of this.
Probably nothing.
Wouldn’t a normal person, a good daughter, be more fazed because she’s about to put a metaphorical dagger into her father”s back?
Maybe, but right now is not the time to think about my messed up family, or what’s left of it. I get dressed, because if shit is really about to go down, I don’t want to stand there in my pajamas.
Carefully, I fold the shirt Sam gave me before I put it on my pillow. I fold it the way he taught me, and it admittedly looks way tidier than my method.
“Samuel,” I speak up as I put my hair in a ponytail. “No matter how this is going to end, I want you to know that—”
“Ruby, darling, please, calm down,” he says, sneaking up behind me again.
“Stop interrupting me, dumbass.” I let the back of my head fall against his chest. I look into his eyes through the mirror before I turn around, breathing in deeply while I hug him.
Tilting my head up, I smile for a second as I see how sleepy he looks. His hair is slightly tousled, his tattooed body on display. My eyes are immediately drawn to the tattoo over his heart, and it’s a shame that I didn’t have the chance to ask him about it.
I play with his dog tags, taking a deep breath while I wonder how dumb the thing I’m about to do is.
“I love you.”
And with that, I pull away and walk out of the door without giving him the time to say anything. I’m too afraid that he doesn’t feel the same, and in my warped logic, it’s better not to know instead of getting rejected.
Schr?dinger’s declaration of love.
As I stand in front of my father’s office, I contemplate running off. It would take me a few seconds to reach the front door, and maybe a minute to get into a car and bolt off. If I’m quick enough, I could make it to the gate before he hears me, and if not, I could just drive through the goddamn thing. If I make it, fine, and if I don’t, well…
But this is no longer just about me.
My father’s voice comes through the door, sleazy as always, probably talking to someone on the phone. I would eavesdrop, should probably eavesdrop, but there’s a ringing in my ears, so loud as if I just came from a heavy metal concert.
I take a deep breath before I open the door, not bothering to knock. His eyes widen for a second as he sees me and he quickly ends his call, but the surprise on his face vanishes way sooner than I had expected.
“What brings me the honor? Did the little princess decide she’s finally done with pouting? Took you long enough,” he says, leaning back into his chair with a grin.
I know I promised to stay polite to get more information out of him, but my body acts on its own accord as I roll my eyes.
“Ruby, please, stop behaving like a child. Don’t tell me you’re still angry. You know how many people I saved. That little girl,” he turns his phone around to show me a picture, probably googled it a second ago, “she gets to run around, can play with her friends again because she got a liver transplant. You are in the wrong when you tell me I’m the bad guy in your story.”
“Just because something good comes out of it doesn’t make it right. And please don’t tell me you kill all those people to play savior.”
He groans, taking a cigar out of the box on his desk.
“All you do is cost me, nerves and money. You and your annoying moral compass. Funny how the money isn’t dirty when you spend it on your stuff.”
His eyes linger on the placement of the box before they are back on me while he lights his cigar.
“This house, your designer clothes, your degree, all those vacations… Where were your morals back then? And don’t get me started on the bodyguards. Do you think they work for free?”
The way he says it makes it seem like I could have decided against all of this. Maybe I really could have.
Bile rises in my throat, not only because of his accusations. He may be an irresponsible businessman, but when it comes to getting someone to break, he’s talented. Knows what to say, knows exactly which buttons to push.
But this right here isn’t just to get me to snap. Something is wrong, I can feel it.
“Business is going well, huh?” I ask, leaning against the sideboard next to the door. My nails dig into the wood, so hard that I fear I’ll break one.
“Heard you branched out again. Nikolai told me.” His eyebrows go up for a fraction of a second before he scoffs. “You know, the nice guy you wanted to sell—ah, I’m sorry, set me up with.”
“Nikolai told you,” he repeats, taking a drag from his cigar. “You want to know what Nikolai told me?”
He sits up straight, and my blood runs cold. I don’t believe a single word he says. Someone must have told him something, yes, but I’d bet a good amount of money that it wasn’t Nikolai. His bodyguard, on the other hand—fuck.
“I just want to know one thing, Ruby.” The smile vanishes from his face as he gets up, his cigar abandoned in the ashtray as his hand slides behind his back.
“How does it feel to betray your own father?”
I swallow thickly, trying to understand him over the ringing that’s back in my ears, even louder than before.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? You should be ashamed of yourself, ratting me out like this.”
He leans against the desk, loading his gun, and this is probably one of the situations Samuel meant when he told me to call him in immediately if anything dangerous happens, but I’m frozen in place.
“I could have had you both killed, right there at the country club. Could have made you watch while they blew his head clean off. Would have let you mourn him for a few minutes before they took care of you. You want to know why I didn’t do it?”
He shakes his head, looking at me with eyes full of disappointment and hatred.
“I’m the reason you’re alive, Ruby. Your mother didn’t want you. I had to force her to agree to keep you. Stupid woman,” he scoffs. “I gave you your life, and I’ll be the one to take it from you. Because look what trying to trust you gets me, Ruby. I did everything for you, gave you everything you wanted. But you’re just too greedy. Never happy with anything, just like your mother.”
“I am greedy? The drugs aren’t good for you, Dad.”
His words don’t hurt me. The fact that his gun is pointed at me doesn’t hurt me. I’m just numb.
“None of this would have happened if you would have listened to me. Everything was going well. You had more than enough, more than anyone could ever need, but you were the one who always wanted more.”
The taste of blood spreads in my mouth and just now I realize I had been biting the inside of my cheek the entire time he was talking.
“But you couldn’t get your pockets full, am I right? What’s the end goal, world domination? You’re an egomaniac, always have been one. Concerning to see that you found an even bigger one. How does it feel to be a measly little errand boy? Jay Barron, degraded to middleman. Embarrassing, if you ask me.”
“You don’t know shit,” he snarls, his finger hovering over the trigger. “I’m not a fucking middleman.”
“Sure, bet you two are equal partners. That’s why you’re going to take the blame while he replaces you with the next idiot.”
My father isn’t the only one who’s good at finding people”s emotional shortcomings, and a part of me wants to provoke him until he shoots me.
He wanted to get rid of the pebble in his shoe that made his life so miserable for the past twenty-four years, so maybe he should just follow through with it.
But just when I’m sure that it’s over for me, the door opens. My father points the gun towards the intruder for a second and then he aims it at me again.
He looks over from Samuel to me and back.
“Ah, Mr. Mills, thank you for joining us. Would have been a shame if I had to go looking for you while she bleeds out in here. But now that you’re here, I wonder which one of you I should kill first. I bet she would be really sad if she had to watch you gargle up blood. Maybe I should be gracious, make it quick with a bullet to your head.”
He plays around with his gun, laughing before he speaks up again.
“Or I could shoot her first. Tell me, Samuel, would it hurt you to watch her die?”
“I don’t think we’re on a first-name basis, Mr. Barron,” Samuel spits out, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone speak with so much disdain in their voice. There’s no gun in his hand, but I doubt he waited out here to de-escalate the situation with words alone.
Suddenly, a gunshot rings through the room.
A few milliseconds later, a second one follows.
I’m pressed against the sideboard, and the ringing in my ear isn’t a ringing anymore, more like a blaring siren that keeps me from forming a coherent thought. I look over at Samuel, my eyes landing on the bullet hole just a few inches next to my head.
The static in my head makes space for the pained cursing of my father. His gun is on the floor, right between him and me. Blood seeps from beneath his fingers while he cradles his hand, and I’m thankful that Samuel is the person in this room with a good aim. There’s a reason my father didn’t teach me how to shoot.
He’s focused on examining his hand, wailing as if it was amputated. Too focused, so distracted that he doesn’t notice me creeping closer. Not until it’s too late. Well, for him.
I look down at him, my expression blank as I try to shove the sliver of sympathy I have for him aside. Why I even have that is a question for another day. I feel better now that his gun is in my hand.
“Ruby,” he pleads, tone sickeningly sweet and fake. Like always when he knows he fucked up. When he knows he hurt me, but this time, he took it too far.
“Don’t do anything you’ll regret, please. Put the goddamn gun down and we can talk this out like adults.”
He gets up, ignoring how Samuels scolds him as he moves, his gun still pointed at my father.
“I’ll give you money, a house, whatever you want, okay? We can just forget all of this happened, but Ruby, for the love of God, I am your father.”
“Right, you were always such a good father,” I say, raising my eyebrow.
With every second I point the gun at him, his voice gets less shaky and more agitated. Sixty ticks of the clock later, his voice is no longer soft and pleading.
“My only daughter, not only a disgrace but also a snitch,” he snarls. “What did he promise you? Money? Immunity?” He scoffs, little drops of spit flying through the air.
“Or do you only help him because you’re so desperate for attention?”
My knuckles whiten as I grip the gun harder. He looks at my hand, laughing as he sees he got a reaction out of me.
“Oh, the little princess is in love. How pathetic,” he says, looking over at Samuel.
“And here I thought I raised you at least a bit right. But you’re dumber than I thought. Your embarrassing stupidity would be funny if I weren’t the one suffering from it. Why won’t you understand no one will ever love you? You’re insufferable, always been a fucking burden—”
Another gunshot rings through the room and this time I know damn well where it came from. My father tumbles to the floor, screaming insults at me as he holds his leg. Unlike him, I know where to shoot.
“I should have killed you years ago. Should have gutted you, just like your useless whore of a mother.”
As I walk towards him, I wonder how far his blood will splatter when I put a bullet into his head. My finger is on the trigger and I don’t know what I’m waiting for. Time stands still, the barrel pressing right against his forehead, but all I can see is the grin on his face. The one that says I know you won’t do it.
Just when I want to prove him wrong one last time, Sam pulls my hand away. His own gun is still pointed at my father to keep him in check.
“Ruby, don’t,” he says softly and somehow this finally brings me to snap.
“Why not? Why the fuck not, Sam? Ah, because it would ruin your fucking mission, right?” I try to yank my arm out of his grip to finish what I started, my father’s words replaying in my head like a broken record.
“You’re such a useless piece of shit,” my father laughs, almost manically. “If I go down, you’ll go down with me. I’ll tell them everything. How you helped me, how you knew about all of this. He won’t help you, you’ll see. You really thought you’d get out of this with a pat on your hand, right? You’ll fucking rot in prison too, I hope they—”
Before he can finish his sentence, Sam silences him with a blow against his temple.
“He’s right.” I look over at him, the color draining from my face. But he is already busy with something else, ripping the concealed microphone off before he crunches it underneath his shoe.
“No,” he says, pacing around the room. “No trial, no prison, no nothing. Not for him, and not for you.”
“But we can’t just let him go?”
“Did you hear me saying he’s going to be a free man?”
I shake my head.
“We have to handle this differently. I’m going to call someone and you keep an eye on him. And please, try not to put a bullet in his head, okay?
When I don’t react, he grabs my face, forcing me to look at him.
“Can you do that for me?”
“Mhm,” I mumble, busy processing what he just said. Just when Sam walks out the door, my father moves on the floor. Another blow to his temple takes care of that issue, and I add a few more punches to his face.
For good measure.
And for my mom.