Broken: Boxed Set

by Wilde, Leah

  Tristan shook his head sadly, like I was a dumb kid who just wasn’t understanding the day’s lesson. “Now you’ve really gone off the deep end. I’m worried about you, Micah. So many fantasies playing through that skull of yours. It must be hard to be so tangled up in your own lies.”

  “They saw you, Tristan! Witnesses saw you do it. They saw you covered with your own wife’s blood. What did she do to you to deserve to go out like that?”

  “Micah, Micah, Micah, come on now. Do you really expect either me or my daughter to believe you? You’ve always been a piece of shit. Now you’re a lying piece of shit on top of that.”

  “You’re the murderer, Tristan. Not me. Paris, you have to believe me.”

  She hadn’t budged from where she sat, rigid with fury, glaring at me. If looks could kill, my ghost would haunt this patch of desert until the whole damn planet exploded.

  “Why would either of us believe such a despicable lie, Micah?” Tristan asked softly.

  “They saw you, Tristan. They fucking saw you.” I felt sickeningly desperate. I decided to bluff. “They’re going to go to the police and tell them everything,” I said. “You aren’t going to be able to hide from you what you did anymore.”

  “Who is going to talk to the police?” He chortled. “Oh!” He put a hand on his chest as if he’d just remembered something. “Do you mean…these men?”

  I turned around in my seat as the front door flew open and James Porter and Boris Turner were dragged in by two of Tristan’s burly henchmen. Their hands were bound behind their backs and gags were strapped over their mouths. They looked utterly terrified, like sheep at the slaughter. I couldn’t blame them. I’d be terrified, too, if the man I’d spent years running from, the one I’d seen with my own eyes as he murdered two people, had finally snapped shut the trap around me.

  The men roughly arranged James and Boris on their knees at the side of the table. “Let’s hear what they have to say,” Tristan suggested. The gags were unbuckled and both men drew in long, rasping breaths.

  “I didn’t see anything, I swear,” Boris sobbed immediately. “I’m nobody. I’ll disappear right now. Say the word and I’m gone. Just please don’t hurt me.”

  James was white as a sheet. “I’ve never seen you in my life, sir,” he said soberly.

  “James, Boris,” I said. “Tell the truth. Tell them what you told me.”

  They turned to look at me with the blankest expressions I’ve ever seen.

  “Who are you?” James asked softly. “I’ve never met you before.”

  “You’re lying!” I said. “Tell them! He can’t hurt you!”

  Tristan chuckled. “It is a pity to see you so desperate, Micah. I’d always had a lot of respect for you in the past. You had such a reputation for being cool under pressure. But I guess I was wrong. Up close, you’re nothing but a sweaty, nervous wreck. Look at him, Paris. Is this a man you’d take at his word?”

  I looked at my wife. She was distant already, her mind miles down the road, leaving me in the dust. “Paris…” I said, trailing off. I was out of words. Out of hope. Rock bottom was even less comfortable than I’d feared. It was cold and dark down here. No matter how hard I tried to clamber out, Tristan kept shutting me down, knocking me back to the bottom of the well. Maybe I’d done this to myself. Maybe I should have kept both my nose and my dick out of Tristan’s business. I’d been such a fucking idiot. My head hung heavily.

  “I didn’t think so,” Tristan finished. He looked supremely at ease, like a king surveying his kingdom and admiring how goddamn high and mighty he was.

  “Just let them go,” I said in a whisper.

  He nodded. “You heard the man,” he instructed his soldiers. “Let them go.”

  The henchmen tugged James and Boris up to their feet and guided them to the back exit. The screen door screeched open and shut as they stumbled through. I heard the distant clank of the gags being dropped onto the wooden porch, followed by desperate feet slapping the earth. They must be running out of the yard.

  Then I heard two shots.

  “You… you…” I stammered. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so lost for words. I always knew what to say. I was Micah Youngblood, goddammit, not some stuttering pussy. I was cool under pressure. I had ice in my veins, steel in my heart. I was the baddest son of a bitch in this city, county, state.

  “Those men reached the end of their rope,” Tristan said. He seemed sad, almost apologetic. What a snake. What a true bastard.

  “You killed them.”

  “They killed themselves, Micah. That’s what the police will find, because that’s what happened. I don’t think you understand yet. However I want things to happen, that’s how they happen. I dictate reality. I do. Not you. Not them. Certainly not the police. Me.”

  Realization dawned on me. “You cut off the investigation. You told the commissioner to make it stop.”

  “Some business is best handled by those involved. The police always tend to muddle things anyway, in my opinion. Besides, this way was best. I promised the commissioner that I would find the man responsible for murdering my wife. And I have found him. It’s you.”

  I sat back in my seat, shell-shocked. One by one, all the avenues of escape were closing around me. There was nothing left but this gray-eyed demon, playing me like a marionette. I’d been an idiot for so long. Ignorance was bliss. Awareness was hell.

  “Are you going to kill me?” I asked. I turned to Paris. “Do you want me to die?”

  When she spoke, her voice was cold and clipped. “Did you do it, Micah? I want to hear you admit it. I want to hear the words come out of your mouth.”

  I gathered all the seriousness I could into my throat and said, “I didn’t kill your mother, Paris. It was him. If I have to die, so be it. But I’m not the man you’re looking for. He is.”

  Tristan planted his hands on the table and stood. “I’ve had enough. It’s been amusing for a while, but no more. I won’t have you keep lying to my daughter. You’ve hurt her plenty. She’s back to me, and I won’t let you continue to twist your claws in her heart. Your time is up, Micah. Go quietly, won’t you?” He gestured to his henchmen as they came back inside, fresh off killing two innocent men. “Bring him out back,” he ordered.

  I didn’t resist as they stomped over and yanked me to my feet with their hands around my upper arms. One shoved me in the back towards the screen door. I walked through it, head hanging low. Behind me, I heard Tristan and Paris following.

  We all gathered outside. I felt a kick in the back of my legs and I fell to my knees in the dirt. The sun was setting in the west. It looked breathtaking. I’d hardly ever taken a second to appreciate what a goddamn miracle it was that we had that great big ball of beautiful fire coming up and down every day to keep this planet alive and well. I’d never appreciated much of anything, really. Well, there was one thing.

  Her.

  Paris was looking down at me from a few yards away. Her eyes were like her father’s—gray, distant, glacial. I’d appreciated her. I could honestly say that I had. She’d done things to me I never expected and sure as hell didn’t deserve. A man like me, a bad man, deserved to die.

  But did I deserve to die like this? Knees in the dirt, my own wife looking down on me as I bled out? My child was in her womb. It seemed beyond tragic that he’d be brought into the world with so much hatred swirling around him. Lies and blood and brutality. It was a sick planet, I decided. Maybe the sun only looked so beautiful because it was miles and miles away from us twisted humans.

  My fists were rooted in the dirt. I stared at the ground. Every detail was crisp and vivid. The sounds of the twilight were impossibly rich. The smell of the air was perfect. My whole body knew that I was about to die and it was taking the chance to savor every last thing one last time.

  “I didn’t do it, Paris,” I whispered. “Just remember I said that. And don’t tell our child that their father died on his knees.”

  “Shut the fuck up,�
� said one of the henchmen, prodding me in the back of the head with a gun.

  Tristan walked around in front of me. He took the gun from the henchman’s hand and said, “I want you to look me in the eyes when I kill you, Micah.”

  I turned my gaze straight into his. The sky beyond his head was purple and deep. The stars were just starting to come out. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he cocked the gun and leveled it in the center of my forehead.

  “Are you sure you want to see this, sweetie?” he asked Paris. Sweetie. The picture of a perfect father, even as he got ready to execute his daughter’s husband. He was a filthy liar, but it didn’t matter how many times I said that. She wouldn’t believe me. He’d done a real fucking number on her head, and she was beyond my reach now.

  She looked at me as she said, “I want to see it.”

  Tristan nodded. “Very well. You’re a grown girl. I’ll respect your decision.” He adjusted his grip on the handle of the gun. “This is for my wife,” he said.

  I kept my eyes riveted open. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing any fear in me. I had none to show. I was an outlaw about to die an outlaw’s death. I knew that it might come to this, that walking into the lion’s den meant there was a good chance I’d never come out, but I’d come anyway. For her. For Paris. I didn’t regret it.

  “Pull the trigger, Tristan,” I said.

  He grimaced. Three shots were fired.

  Chapter 25

  Paris

  I heard a howling shriek and saw blood erupt from my father’s leg. To either side of me, his two henchmen collapsed. They were dead before they hit the ground.

  I screamed as I fell, cowering into the dirt, shielding my head and eyes and praying that I didn’t get shot.

  I peeked out between my hands. From across the yard came two massive, shaven-headed men wearing tactical gear with big sniper rifles strapped across their shoulders.

  They pushed Tristan onto his back, then one of them reached a hand down to help Micah up. He took it and struggled to my feet.

  “Are you okay, friend?” said a voice behind me.

  I turned and saw a man walking towards where I stood. He was wearing a track suit and looking as casual as could be. But I saw the glimmer in his eyes and knew that he was brewing with anger.

  “I’m okay,” Micah said.

  I didn’t know what was going on, but somehow, I’d made it through unhurt.

  The man nodded sagely. “It seems our timing was appropriate. I am glad,” he said with a Russian accent.

  “You don’t even know the half of it, Sergei, my brother.” Micah and the man clasped hands, then turned as one to look at Tristan where he was lying in the dirt.

  “So this is the motherfucker, eh?” he asked.

  “This is him,” Micah replied.

  Daddy sat up on his elbows, breathing in heavily through his mouth. His eyes were wild with animal fear.

  “That is a nasty wound,” Sergei said, pointing at my father’s leg. “You ought to go to a hospital. You are very likely to bleed out if you do not.”

  Tristan kept breathing, not saying a word. Off to my right, I saw the crumpled bodies of his henchmen. Each of them bore a clean bullet hole right through the forehead.

  “Tell me, Tristan,” he continued, “why did you hurt my friend, Anton? And your wife? That is a very disgraceful thing to do, friend.”

  “I didn’t do shit,” he spat.

  Sergei clucked and shook his head. “I know very well what you did. Do you think you are the only one who is friends with the police?” He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, crouched, and waggled it in front of Tristan’s face. “There was video, wasn’t there? You knew this. They had you on camera! Very sloppy, very sloppy indeed. You are not so good at this job. Perhaps it is best that you do not do it anymore.”

  Daddy paled. I felt my stomach drop.

  “Let us watch together, shall we?” Sergei announced. He hit play and held the phone so Daddy could see. As each second ticked by, the pallor in my dad’s face whitened further. By the end of it, he looked like a corpse.

  The desert was silent when the video ended. Sergei stood up. “Tell your daughter what you did,” he said. His voice was icy cold, barely human. When Daddy stayed silent, he nudged a toe against his ruined leg, eliciting a bone-chilling scream. The howl echoed in the night. “Tell her,” he repeated. “Now.”

  Daddy closed his eyes and started to speak, but Sergei interrupted again. “No, you must look at her. Like a man. Explain what you did and why.”

  My father looked at me and the whole world shrank down to just his voice. I couldn’t see anything else, hear anything else, couldn’t even breathe as he spoke. His eyes were quivering. “It was me,” he said in a near-whisper. “I did it.”

  I shook my head vigorously. “No, you didn’t, Daddy. You couldn’t have.”

  “He did it, Paris,” Micah said softly.

  Tears pearled at the corners of my eyes. I heard a hollow, rushing noise, like the blood in my head had begun to stream faster and faster through my veins. My heart in my chest was fluttering at top speed.

  “Daddy, why? Why would you kill Mom?”

  His face twisted into a violent snarl as he erupted suddenly. “Because she was a fucking whore!” he thundered. “A nasty, cheating slut!”

  I shrank in fear at the sudden outburst. Who was this man lying across from me, telling me he’d murdered my mother, calling her a whore, a slut? It was night and day. Just moments ago, I’d felt like I was reunited with him, like I had my father back and everything was falling back into place. But there was one more sudden jerk of the world left in store, it seemed, one more dizzying wrench before I could get a bearing on my life. Just moments ago, he’d seemed so innocent. This didn’t seem possible.

  But then I remembered the day with the broken vase, when I’d seen the beast in my father come roaring out as he bellowed at my mother. Tell me who it was! He’d been a monster then. Maybe he’d always been a monster.

  “She was sleeping with that fucking filth I found her with. She didn’t have to tell me; I knew it. They were together, just like I knew they’d be. I found them and I did what had to be done. I don’t regret it. She died like she should have—like a whore.”

  The Russian man, Sergei, tilted his head to the side. “She was not cheating on you, Tristan. Anton was her friend. They had known each other for a long time. He told me often that a friend of his was in trouble, that she was trying to run away from an abusive husband. But he did not say it was you. Perhaps she made him swear to keep her secret safe; I do not know for certain. But I do know that you killed an innocent man. One who deserved better than to die at the hands of a pig like you.”

  I couldn’t keep everything straight. Revelations were being tossed around casually, but each one was exploding in my head like a hand grenade. My mother was a cheater—no, she was just scared. Micah had killed her—no, my own father had. I didn’t know what to think, how to feel. It was all too much. I felt dizzy and nauseating. And all this blood around me wasn’t helping.

  “What are you going to do to me?” Daddy asked. “Take me to the police?”

  Micah shook his head grimly. “Whatever Sergei has in store for you will be far, far worse than jail, Tristan. I’d say, may God have mercy on your soul, but I don’t believe in the big man upstairs, and even if I did, I don’t think he gives a damn about you.”

  Sergei’s men bent down and each took one of my father’s arms in their grasp. They began dragging him off to the side of the house, where a truck sat idling. Sergei looked at Micah once, nodded brusquely, then turned and followed his men to the car. They tossed my father into the backseat and climbed in after him. Then they shut the door. The car turned and disappeared around the bend in the road.

  Micah turned to face me. I was still lying in the dirt. He walked over and reached down to help me up, brushing off dirt from my clothing as I stood. I felt weak and numb everywhere, like I
could barely support my own weight.

  He looked down at me, his eyes steely and soft at the same time, boiling with some inscrutable mix of love and distance, of fire, of glaciers. All of the things that made him who he was, they were visible in one way or another, or maybe I was just going delusional from all of the emotional stress.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I said.

  “I know.”