by Tabatha Kiss
I head back inside to find them all gathered around my laptop on the table.
“What’s going on?” I ask, a bit suspicious of them hovering over my things.
Sofia moves over to let me through and I see the headline in the browser window.
ROXIE ROBERTS CONFIRMED DEAD IN HOUSE FIRE.
News footage rolls at the top of the article, some head talking over shots of Fox and Dani’s house in Los Angeles engulfed in flames.
“They found a body at the scene,” Lilah reads. “DNA evidence points to Dani.”
“Wait.” I furrow my brow in confusion. “Why would they…?”
“They want to make sure no one comes looking for her,” Dante says. “Faking a death is easier to deal with than a missing person’s case.”
Lilah chortles. “Classic Snake Eyes.”
Sofia rubs Fox’s arm. “It’s not real, Fox,” she says, comforting him.
He stares at the screen, his face as blank as it was outside. “It feels real,” he says, his voice heavy and cold.
I think of Afghanistan again. Of Caleb collapsing in my arms after she was told that Fox had been killed. That was real, as real as it could have been for us.
Fox turns and walks away from the laptop, quietly disappearing down the dark hallway.
Forty-Seven
Caleb
“Bon Appetite, Ms. Fawn.”
I glance up from my plate. Marilyn Black smiles at me from across the dining room table and raises her fork, balancing of a healthy bite of grilled salmon and some sort of fancy rice dish. My gaze falls to the silver cobra necklace around her neck — the same shape as that damned tattoo they insist on branding all their agents with.
“You are eating for two now, aren’t you?” She chuckles.
I pull my hands from my lap, knocking the handcuffs against the giant wooden table. The sound echoes through the room, bouncing off the gaudy decorations and ancient, ugly furniture.
I grab the knife beside my plate and Marilyn’s brow rises. “Where is Dani?” I ask.
Marilyn sets her fork down. “Ms. Roberts has been given separate accommodations,” she answers.
“Oh, is that what we’re calling it?” I ask. “Is that what we’re calling kidnapping and dosing her to sleep through a flight halfway across the country?”
She sighs and wipes her mouth on her cloth napkin before setting it back down in her lap. “Ms. Fawn—”
“I want to see my friend,” I say over her.
“She is no longer your concern.”
“She is, actually. That’s kind of how friendship works.”
“If I were you, I would concern myself with my husband and my child.” She picks up her wineglass. “Just what would Mr. Carson think if he saw you in this condition? You must be starving. And you’re skin and bones already...”
I tighten my grip on the knife. “Let me and Dani go and I’ll eat whatever you put in front of me.”
“You are not a prisoner here, Ms. Fawn.”
I rattle my cuffs. “Is that right?”
Marilyn chuckles. “Please, Caleb,” she says, tilting her head. “I didn’t bring you here to hurt you. Or threaten you. In fact, quite the contrary. I’m treating you with respect — the least you could do is offer me the same courtesy.” She picks up her fork again. “Now, please, let us enjoy our meal.”
I snatch my fork off the table and stab my piece of salmon. She watches as I hastily break off a chunk and shove it into my mouth. I even chew with my mouth open. Fancy bitch.
But Marilyn just smiles and takes another slow sip of her wine.
“What did you bring me here for?” I ask, chewing.
“Uh-uh-uh.” She waves a finger. “That’s more of an after-dinner conversation.”
I glance around in annoyance, taking in the finer details of my location. Deep red curtains. Golden figurines. A tiny Z carved into the handle of the silverware. That damned cobra necklace again and… the diamond ring on her finger?
Dani’s vintage engagement ring?
Not cool, lady.
“It’s a nightmare, isn’t it?” Marilyn asks, smirking at me. “I mean, for a family so well-off you’d think they’d hire a decent decorator.”
I take another bite of my fish as boots echo in from down the hall.
A man walks into the dining room and grins, clapping his hands as he nears the table. “Marilyn, I must say, when you deliver, you deliver.”
She throws on a wicked smile. “I am quite pleased to hear that, Gio. Satisfied clients are what I live for.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m completely satisfied... yet,” he says, tilting his head. “We do seem to be missing one...”
“And as soon as I hear from my team overseas, you’ll be the first to know,” she says, the words stiff and rehearsed. “Do give my compliments to Beatrix. The meal is wonderful, as always.”
“I’ll be happy to pass it on. Thank you.” His gaze juts toward me and his smile sticks a little longer as he eyes my handcuffs. “Will you be staying long?” he asks Marilyn.
“I’ll be staying until I can get a completely satisfied out of you,” she says. “And I wouldn’t dream of missing a Zappia wedding. The last one was positively beautiful.”
“Yes...” Gio bites his cheek. “Well, perhaps this one will stick a little longer.”
Marilyn laughs. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed and my guns loaded.”
He grins. “I’ll leave you to finish your meal in peace. It’s a pleasure to have you here, Marilyn.”
She raises her glass and winks. “The pleasure is all mine, Gio.”
He offers me a passive glance as he turns back around and walks out of the room.
As soon as he’s gone, Marilyn’s smile drops. “Repugnant man,” she mutters with a sigh. “The whole lot of ‘em, but...” She shrugs. “A client is a client.”
I blink, shifting uncomfortably. “What wedding?” I ask her.
“That, Ms. Fawn...” She brings her glass to her lips again, “is none of your concern.”
I put my fork down hard and she raises her brow again. “What did you bring me here for?” I ask, my anger lingering beneath the surface.
Marilyn nods and sets her glass down. “All right, then,” she says, softly clearing her throat. “I would like to offer you a job.”
I snort. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I never joke about my work,” she says. “No, Ms. Fawn, I am quite serious.”
I drop my cuffed hands into my lap. “I’m pretty sure I don’t have the skill-set you require from your agents,” I say. “I’m not a mass murderer.”
She smiles. “My agents make up a small part of what Snake Eyes does,” she says. “We would find a place for you, Caleb. For you and your talented husband. You would never have to touch another gun ever again, if you’d like.”
“No,” I answer. “But since you mention it, the last time you offered my talented husband a job, you tried to kill him a week later.”
“An unfortunate oversight, I’m afraid,” she says with a sigh. “This is what happens when you don’t cross your T’s and dot your I’s in this business.”
“Your men tried to kill Boxcar because of an oversight?” I ask.
“I was very impressed with Mr. Carson’s work and I would, of course, be willing to fully compensate him for the trauma my late agents may have caused… should you accept your positions.”
I gawk at her. “I’m sorry. Is this a bit?” I ask. “Do you have any self-awareness for how insane you sound right now?”
“I understand that this might be confusing for you—”
“Understatement.”
“—but I would advise that you keep your head, Ms. Fawn,” she says, her voice hardening. “Please do not take my respect and patience for granted.”
I close my mouth.
“I took a personal interest in your career,” she continues. “Such a beautiful young woman, the whole world out in front of you. With your grad
es, you could have gone to any school you wanted, done anything you desired, but you enlisted in the armed forces. Why?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Marilyn stares me down. “Why, Caleb?”
I shift on my chair. “Because… my father was killed overseas,” I answer.
“And you wanted to be like him?” she asks.
“My father was my hero. He was a life-long soldier. A great dad. Honorable.” I shrug a shoulder. “Who wouldn’t want to be like that?”
Marilyn takes a deep breath, her eyes drowning in sympathy. “I remember what it was like to see my father that way, too. Unfortunately…” She presses her lips together. “Well, sometimes the people we love aren’t who they appear to be at all.”
I clench my jaw as she picks up her knife and fork again.
“I’ll give you a day to think it over,” she says. “And I do encourage you… to make your husband and child your top concern. I would hate it if something ill were to befall you.”
And there it is. The veiled threat meant to make your recruitment into Snake Eyes that much more voluntary.
“If I accept, will you let Dani go?” I ask.
Marilyn smiles. “I’m afraid she’s not mine to give — though I do appreciate tenacity when I see it.”
“I’ll pay you,” I say. “I want to hire Snake Eyes to break Dani out of here.”
“Oh, honey.” She laughs. “You couldn’t afford that.”
My eyes fall to her cobra necklace again. “If I accept, will you leave Fox alone?”
Marilyn stabs the table with her knife and I nearly jolt out of my seat from the swift, violent jerk of her hand.
“That’s enough, Ms. Fawn,” she says, her voice teetering on the edge. “You will soon find that you do not have the cards to negotiate with me.”
I sit back, too nervous to move.
Forty-Eight
Lilah
Dante follows me down the stairs into the basement. We walk in silence, me with Elijah’s medkit hanging off my arm and him with a butcher’s knife in his hand. The air is heavy and expectant, like the last few minutes before a thunderstorm.
We reach the room at the end of the hall and pause in the doorway.
Myra sits in the chair, her arms latched behind her with a few extra chains to make sure she stayed put this time. She raises her head, looking weak and worn. She hasn’t eaten in a day, at least. No water, either.
Good.
“Hey, Ra-ra,” I say. “How are you holding up?”
She doesn’t answer. Her skin is ghostly pale, far more than usual from the blood loss earlier.
I look at Dante. There’s a stiff eagerness in his eyes but he’s probably thinking the same thing about me. We’ve waited long enough for this.
It’s time to avenge our brother.
We step into the room, parting to round the table and take the seats on either side of Myra. I set the red medkit down on the table and unzip the main compartment, relishing in the tepid panic that fills Myra’s black eyes.
She knows she’s about to die.
“So,” I clear my throat, “my brother and I have spent the last several hours talking about how we’re going to kill you. Dante here is a fan of quick — not necessarily painless — but quick. Eye for an eye. Bullet for a bullet.” I shrug. “A quick shot through the heart sounds fair and all but we talked it over and we both agreed that you deserve something a little more... excruciating.”
I pause for a reaction but Myra just stares at the table.
“We thought... we could hang you from a tree outside,” I continue. “Or drown you in a tub. Still, not good enough. I suggested stabbing you through the rib cage and poking a teeny, tiny hole in your lungs. It’s not too quick, it’s fucking painful, and you die gasping as you drown in your own bodily fluids. Now, that one... that was tempting, wasn’t it, big brother?”
“Very tempting,” Dante says, calm and stoic.
“But no,” I say. I reach into the medkit and withdraw a syringe. “Instead, we came up with this.”
Myra raises her head. Her eyes bounce from me to the needle and back again. Mouth still sealed shut. For once.
“You might remember that Elijah had a knack for Chemistry,” I say, flicking the cap off the needle. “He used to make all sorts of fun things. Painkillers, truth serums. Whole bunch of shit. However, he wasn’t the greatest at labeling things. My twin was never the most organized guy in the room but that’s fine. We all have our quirks.”
I reach into the kit and grab the first vial I feel.
“Like this!” I hold up the vial, inspecting the deep red liquid inside. “What the fuck is this? Let’s find out.”
I push the needle through the cap and pull back the plunger to fill it. Myra tries to scoot her chair away from me but Dante blocks the chair leg with his heel and shoves her toward me, keeping a firm hand on her shoulder to stop her from trying again.
“Hold still,” I tell her. “This will probably hurt.”
I jab the needle into her shoulder and she winces as I push it down. A drop of blood seeps out of the hole in her skin as I pull it out and sit back.
Dante and I wait in silence, watching her face closely for any kind of side effect.
“Anything?” I ask, amused.
Myra doesn’t react.
“Hrmm. Let’s see what else we got.”
I hand the syringe over to Dante as I reach into the kit again. I grab another random vial from inside, this one a teal green shade, and Dante takes it from me. He pierces the cap and fills the syringe.
Myra watches him with wide eyes, quickly twitching with panic and fear. He jabs it into her other arm and she cringes in pain again.
“Sorry,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “Dante and I weren’t blessed with a soft touch. Maybe if Elijah were here, but then again...”
“Just kill me,” she spits at us. “Get it over with.”
Dante and I share a look.
“Nah,” I say. I grab another vial and Dante gives me the syringe to fill. “Hopefully, mixing all this shit together won’t cause some violent chemical reaction in your system somewhere...” I muse, my voice full of whimsy.
I jab her again, making it hurt.
“Stop it,” Myra begs.
I lean back. “What’s wrong, Myra? Do you feel a burning sensation? A sudden kick to the chest around where your heart should be?”
Dante removes another vial from the kit as I lay the syringe down for him to take.
“I was just doing my job,” she says, growing short of breath.
“You know who else always did his job?” I ask. “Elijah. The guy never even took a sick day and you put him down for a little bit of Zappia money. Was it worth it?”
Myra gasps as Dante sticks her in the shoulder again. “Dante, please...”
He passes the syringe back to me. “You really think begging me for mercy is going to help you?” he asks.
“You really think torturing me is going to help you?” she asks, her voice quivering. “I wasn’t lying before. The only thing you can do is run. There’s no happy ending here.”
“We’ll take our chances.”
I fill the syringe again with another shot of teal green. “Yeah, I’m not so concerned about my happy ending,” I say, aiming for her shoulder. “I’m more preoccupied with your ending at the moment.”
I jab her one more time and she tightens in a quick, pain-filled tremor.
“If you have any last words or final wishes...” I say, laying the syringe down on the table. “We’ll be happy to pass them on. It’s the least we can do.”
She says nothing as her nose begins to bleed.
I reach into the kit again and withdraw one of the Boss’ diaries, the end in sight. “You know what I stumbled upon earlier?” I ask, holding it up. “Your mother’s diaries. Or guardian’s, I guess. You were, technically, adopted.”
Myra glares at me, her chest heaving for short, rapid breaths.
<
br /> I flip through the pages. “She has an awful lot to say about Mercer,” I note. “Mercer is at the top of his class. He’s looking more and more like V every day — whoever that is. My heart grows, she wrote. My son makes me a proud mother every time I look at him.” I glance at Myra. “You, on the other hand... I think Mommy had a bit of kidnapper’s remorse.”
“Shut up,” Myra mutters.
“Myra is a brat,” I read. “She rarely does as she’s told. Why can’t she be more like my son?”
“I said, shut up.”
I set the diary down. “You tried so hard, didn’t you?” I ask. “To impress her. To make her happy. It must have worked a little, right? She made you her voice. Though... maybe she only did that to shut you up.”
Myra trembles, her eyes full of pain.
I look at Dante and he stands up from his chair.
“You know what, Myra?” I say. “Fox was wrong before. You didn’t ask for this life. You had loving parents, a family, I assume. But she took that from you. You’re as much her victim as we are.” I shake my head. “You adapted and survived in the only way you could. Just like me. I can respect that.”
Dante lays a hand on her shoulder as her limbs twitch. She tries to speak but she can’t, her nervous system no doubt being torn apart from the inside out. I sit still and watch for a few more moments. I wonder if her pain feels worse than my pain. I hope it does.
“Truth is, I do feel sorry for you,” I say. “For the woman you could have been. But the woman you are... She killed my brother. She raped my lover. And she deserves every second of this.”
Myra coughs, spewing blood down her shirt. I could leave her here forever. I want to but, like all good families, sometimes you have to compromise.
I nod at Dante and he lays the butcher’s knife along her neck.
Myra turns her head up and breathes one final, aching sigh of relief. “Thank you. Thank—”
He opens her throat and turns away as she bleeds out down her chest. She doesn’t fight it at all, not that she could in the first place, but a look of peace settles on her face.