by Tabatha Kiss
Luckily, it looks like most of the tantrum occurred downstairs. Anything that wasn’t glued down on my nightstand is on the floor and they shattered the mirror over my vanity but, overall, nothing I can’t handle or fix myself.
Partner. Who needs one anyway?
I kneel to pick up the books by my bed and my knees settle into the carpet.
He was so sweet and kind to me. He put my needs ahead of his and I never once felt rushed or self-conscious. I believed every word, every kiss, every caress of his hand—
I bite my trembling lips, trying to hold back the sob in my chest.
And he left. It was the right thing to do — the right thing for both of us — but fuck, this hurts. He left and it fucking hurts.
Tears rush to fill my eyes and I shake my head, feeling ridiculous.
I haven’t cried over a boy since high school.
“Anna?”
I spin around on the floor, gasping at the man standing in my bedroom doorway.
I look up into his smirking face and sigh with relief. “Trevor, dammit…”
Trevor throws up his hands and laughs. “Hold your fire, Silva,” he says. “I’m one of the good guys.”
Thirty
Milo
Turns out, dying takes forever.
He wasn’t wrong about the agonizing pain part. I should have kept berating him until he shot me again. At least it would have been over and done with and I wouldn’t have spent the last who-knows-how-long replaying last-minute fantasies in my head about being saved.
Maybe Anna will come back for one last kiss.
The door opens.
“Milo?” she says, the faintest gasp on her breath.
I look up and she’s there in the doorway. She covers her mouth with a shocked hand and rushes over, falling to her knees beside me.
“Oh, my god! Milo?”
She cradles my head. Her face blurs.
“Mi— Jake! Hold on!”
Her hands are red, covered in blood.
“I love you, Jake.”
I force my eyes open and look around my empty living room. I’m still breathing. Still bleeding. Still here.
My tongue tastes like pennies. My fingers tingle. I wish my heart would just stop already. I wish the pain would end. I wish she really would come back for that last kiss.
The door opens wide. There’s a shape of a man in the frame. Cruel tricks of a dying mind, I suppose.
He steps forward and stands above me.
“Milo.”
He’s loud yet calm, like he’s seen this shit before.
I squint, trying to keep my sight together but his face refuses to cooperate.
“Milo, wake up.”
I lick my dry lips. This is no mind trick. He’s really here.
“Help,” I say.
The man sighs. He turns around and stomps into my kitchen. The distance helps make out more of him. Thick, broad shoulders. Short, dark hair. The faint smell of artificial vanilla extract.
“Vincent?” I ask.
He returns with a dish towel and a glass of water. “Milo…” He kneels and lifts my shirt. “Who shot you?”
“Uh…”
Water splashes me in the face. I jolt, instantly more alert, but that might be more annoyance than anything else.
“Who shot you?” he repeats.
“Partner,” I get out. “Anna’s…”
He frowns. “Trevor Rhys?”
I nod, pointing a weak finger. Vincent takes hold of my arm and moves me like a ragdoll, sitting me up. He runs a hand along my back and nods, though he won’t say why.
“Lean back,” he says.
I try to but he does most of the work, sliding me out of the pool of blood to rest my back against the wall.
“Ouch,” I say.
Vincent folds the towel and presses it into my wounds. “Hold this,” he says, forcing my hand. “Put pressure on it.”
I tap into whatever strength I have in me and do as he says. I might not die here, after all.
I clear my throat. “Don’t think I’m not grateful, Vincent, but what are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to you,” he says, chill as ice.
“How did you know where to find me?”
“Milo, when it comes to my family, I can be very, very scary.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Also, we’re all on this neat family plan that lets me log in and see where everyone is whenever I want.”
I nod. “That’s handy.”
“And last night, my sister lied to my face, left her daughter with me, and came here. Until dawn.”
He glares at me with that protective brother frown.
“Okay, yeah,” I say, coughing. “She did.”
His nostrils flare. “I have issues with you, Milo,” he says. “Anna’s not the family screw-up. I am. Then, she meets you and suddenly, she’s abetting a criminal. I don’t like it.”
“Believe me, I’ve tried once already to get out of her life for good. I don’t want this for her.” I catch my breath. “I sure as hell don’t want it for Charlotte.”
Vincent nods. “Get up.”
I flex my hands, just to see if I still can. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but… I’ve been shot.”
“A man of your height and build should be able to walk a half-mile with a wound like that before the nerves in his legs give out.”
I scoff. “How would you know?”
He lifts his shirt revealing a deep white scar along his left side.
“Oh,” I say. “Hey, Vincent, is there anybody in your family that’s not a total badass?”
“Not really.” He drops his shirt and holds out his hand. “Now, get up,” he says again, “and tell me why Trevor shot you.”
Thirty-One
Anna
Sorry, Anna.” Trevor walks into my room. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I turn to wipe away the lingering tears in my eyes. “It’s all right,” I say, quietly sniffing. “I didn’t hear you knock.”
“I didn’t, actually,” he says. “I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d come check the house to make sure no one was scoping it out. I saw your car outside… Do you want me to leave?”
“No.” I take a breath. “Still just a little on-edge, I guess.”
“I can see that.” He steps forward, studying my eyes. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, swallowing the last few tears.
Trevor continues closer. “You know, Anna, I’m starting to feel like a broken record here, but I’m here for you. Always will be.”
“And I appreciate that. I do. You’re a good friend, Trev.”
His face twitches. “Anna, I wa—”
My phone rings and I reach into my pocket to answer it. “It’s my brother. Hold on.” I turn around. “Hey, Vincent. I’m sorry, I’ll be back soon. Something came up—”
“Don’t react,” Vincent says, his voice sharp and cold. “Clear your throat if Trevor is with you.”
I haven’t heard my brother sound this serious in years but I let my training kick in, keeping my expression casual and soft.
I clear my throat.
“Get away from him,” he says.
I chuckle lightly. “What’s Charlotte done now?”
“He shot Milo.”
My heart stops. I keep it all inside, using every bit of strength I have not to look at Trevor. “What?” I ask, my voice cracking.
“He framed Milo for the mob murders. He’s your killer, Anna. Get away from him.”
“That’s not…”
My curiosity betrays me and I look at him. Trevor stares at me with that same boyish smile he’s had since day one. For the first time, I look into his eyes and feel a sinister intent behind them.
But he was so nice. So thoughtful.
He was the perfect gentleman.
“Is she okay?” I ask.
“He’s alive,” Vincent answers. “But he’s in bad shape. Where are you?
”
“I’m just—” I swallow the lump building in my throat. “I’m at the house, picking up a few things.”
“Are you alone with him?”
“Yes.”
“Make something up. Get out of there. I’m on my way.”
I shake my head. “No, you take care of Charlotte. Tell her I love her and I’ll be there soon.”
“Anna—”
I hang up and lower the phone to my side.
This isn’t possible, right? Trevor’s a good cop. He’s not…
Vincent wouldn’t lie to me about something like this. He wouldn’t lie to me at all.
Trevor smiles and nods at the phone. “What’s up with the kid?” he asks.
I force a laugh. “Binged a little too hard on sugar last night,” I lie. “She’s sick.”
He chuckles. “Kids will be kids, right?”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I say with a sigh.
My mind races as I look at him. Trevor pushed Milo’s guilt so hard, even when an alibi vindicated him. The hot sauce at the crime scenes. The fingerprints on Martin’s door—
My breath catches in my throat. Trevor took those prints.
And we found the murder weapon in Milo’s truck after Trevor searched it first. Alone.
My guts sway with epiphany.
Trevor gives a kind, thoughtful smile that trembles my knees. “Anna, are you sure you’re okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, pausing.
“Talk to me,” he says.
“I’m just worried about my daughter,” I say, stepping forward. “I need to grab a few extra shirts for her and go—”
He shifts into my path. “Eh, what’s the rush?” he asks. “She’s got her aunt and uncle taking care of her. Take a break. You’ve earned it.”
I look over his shoulder at the door. “Actually, Trev, I should really go. Charlotte is not an easy kid when she’s sick.”
“All the more reason to relax. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
He inches closer and shivers dance down my spine. A shadow crosses his eyes and I sense a desperation hidden within his growing, black pupils.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Anna,” he says. “I’m sorry if that’s too forward but I think about you a lot. And not in a friendly way.”
“That’s…” I eye the door behind him again. “That’s very sweet of you, Trevor, but I don’t feel the same way. I’m sorry.”
“Give me a chance,” he begs, his face twitching. “Give us just one chance. I’ll be good to you…”
He touches my hips, staying on me as I shift backward.
I reach out and lock my elbows to keep him at arm’s length. “Trevor, back off,” I say.
His boyish face vanishes completely and he grits his teeth. “What’s it gonna fucking take with you, huh?”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“You’ll give it up to him but you won’t look twice at me?”
“Trev—”
He forces his mouth on mine and I recoil, shoving him away as hard as I can.
“Trevor, stop—”
His hand latches onto my throat and he slams me against the broken vanity behind me. I lose my balance and fall back, scratching at his vise-like grip around my neck.
“After all this time,” he growls. “You’re nothing but a common whore.”
I reach for the gun in my ankle holster, sliding it free. He grabs at it with his other hand and twists my wrist to make me drop it. I cough and wheeze, desperately trying to take in a complete breath as he takes my gun and throws it across the room.
Trevor draws me closer just to throw me back against the busted mirror. Glass scratches the back of my head. It hurts but I can’t let the pain overwhelm me.
I dig my fingers beneath his hand, trying to loosen the edge of his grip.
“Anna,” he says, leaning in. “Just let me have you.”
He grabs my breast with his free hand.
“No,” I say, my eyes burning.
“I need you,” he says. He slides his fingers down to my jeans, quickly tugging open the button to get at my zipper. “I need you so much.”
“Stop.”
He pulls me off the vanity and throws me to the floor.
I roll onto my knees to crawl away from him but I don’t get far before Trevor grabs me by my ponytail and yanks me back.
He slams a wet rag over my mouth.
I try to stop it. I try to hold my breath and block the chemical from getting in but my lungs force me to breathe. I inhale a complete breath of it. A cold and wet liquid fills my nasal cavity, inching into the back of my throat. A heavy cloud pinches my brain, threatening to knock me out.
Chloroform. I can’t let this happen.
I extend my hand back, aiming for his eyes. I scratch, digging my nails into his face. He screams and backs off long enough for me to roll over.
I kick upward, slamming my heel into his groin.
Trevor doubles forward and falls to his knees. “Fucking bitch!” he says, holding his blood-covered face.
I lash out with another kick, this one nailing him in the side of his head. He falls down, groaning in pain, while I get up and rush out into the hall.
I force myself to cough. I exhale hard through my nose, trying to clear my system, but I still feel that liquid settling in to take me down. I hawk and spit but it doesn’t help. I try holding my breath to keep it out of my brain but I already feel unconsciousness building in me. My legs sway beneath me as I nearly trip down the stairs.
“Anna…”
I ignore him. A dizzy spell hits me and I nearly fall against the bookshelf in the living room.
Stay awake, Anna.
Trevor will come down those stairs any second now, angrier and more determined to take what he wants. If I keep breathing this shit then I won’t be able to fight back.
I need to clear my airway.
I reach the kitchen and pull open the refrigerator door. My eyes focus on the to-go cup still sitting on the shelf in front of me.
Hot Sauce.
I brace myself for the spicy, airway-clearing burn. The smell strikes me as soon as I peel the lid off, that strong mix of spices and sweetness coming back to me.
I stick my nose in and inhale as deep as I can.
I recoil but I hold it in. My vision clears and my head throbs but that dizzy feeling fades, instantly replaced with a jarring alertness throughout my entire body.
I pour it onto my tongue, feeling the burning kick as I swallow the sauce. It rushes straight to my head and my body tingles from the throat down.
“Anna!”
I hear Trevor bounding down the stairs. I stand taller, keeping the cup of sauce clenched in my hand.
“Come on, Anna.” His voice sounds softer. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? Can we… can we talk about this?”
I don’t answer. I move on the tips of my toes from the kitchen to the dining room as he walks down the hallway.
“Anna…” He growls in frustration. “You don’t have to be such a fucking bitch about this!”
I move around behind him, taking the second way into the living room. If I can sneak past him, I can get back upstairs to my gun.
Breaking glass echoes down the hall from the kitchen and Trevor murmurs to himself. I take the opportunity to bolt for the stairs with my cup still cradled in my hands.
“Anna!”
My chest lurches but I refuse to look back. I take the stairs as fast as I can. He gains on me at top speed. My head throbs with fear and panic but the comforting scent of hot sauce gives me an idea.
I stop at the top of the stairs and spin around to face him. He doesn’t let up, racing at me two steps at a time.
I fling the rest of the sauce at him, spraying his wide-open eyes.
Trevor screams and cradles his head, falling backward as he tries to wipe the sauce away. I raise my foot and kick him as hard as I can in the chest. He loses his balance and falls, tumbling all the way to the
bottom.
I twist around and rush to the bedroom. My gun sits in the corner where he threw it. I grab it and flick the safety off, ready to defend myself when he lunges at me again.
I ease for the doorway, focusing my hearing to stay a step ahead of him. I expect to hear him huffing and puffing in pain as he limps up the stairs but it’s silence ahead of me.
I walk slowly into the hallway and I hear his painful grunts down the stairs.
Trevor still lies there at the bottom. He tries to move his legs but he shrieks in agony, unable to push himself up. He’s helpless and broken with puffy eyes and blood-covered cheeks.
I descend the stairs with my gun extended in front of me. “Trevor Rhys, you’re under arrest for the murder of Canon McGregor and Martin Wells.” My heart breaks, clinging to wishful thinking, “and the attempted murder of Jacob Tyler.”
He laughs, sounding strained and more deranged than before. “Just do it, Anna,” he says. “Shoot me. You know you want to. Just do it.”
I do want to. I trusted him. I thought he was one of the only people I could trust but I was wrong. He betrayed me. He betrayed our badge. I don’t even understand why.
I lower my gun to my side. My ears perk to the sound of sirens heading in our direction. Vincent sent the calvary. Possibly the National Guard and the Secret Service, too, knowing him…
“Murder is murder, Trevor.” I hold back tears. “Doesn’t matter how much you think he might deserve it. Also…” I shake my head with pity, “you’re not worth a bullet.”
Trevor leers at me for another moment before letting his head drop.
I go to the front door and step outside onto the porch.
A shot rings out behind me.
I spin around and look down my body, focusing my senses for pain that’s not there. My eyes swell with tears from panic but confusion sets in. I wasn’t hit.
I take a single step back in to see Trevor slump over silently. Blood spills out of a hole in his head as his gun slides from his limp fingers to the floor.
Rest in peace, friend. If you’re lucky.
Thirty-Two
Milo
I’m dead.