Something Like Love

by Monica James

  What choice do I have? None. I can’t allow them to hurt Tristan. And that’s what will happen if I say no again. Phil is a sadist, and he likes to toy with people to get a rise out of them, as their fear fuels his inner psychopath. But Phil tires quickly, and like all psychopaths, he loves power and control. So by saying no, I’m taking that away from him, something which he will ensure I pay for. And by pay, I mean he will go after everyone I love. He won’t stop until every person I care for is dead. And he’ll make certain their final moments on this earth are beyond painful, so when that time comes, they’ll beg him to kill them.

  “Okay,” I whisper, sickened by my decision. I look at Tristan, begging him to forgive me.

  “Mia, no!” Tristan roars, his head shaking uncontrollably. “No! Kill me! Kill me!” he slurs, looking frantically up at Phil, bloody spittle covering his chin. “Let her go, please, let her go. Kill me, but let her go,” he bravely says, begging for my life.

  “No,” I spit, my heart breaking at his chivalry. “I have your word?” I say to Phil, my eyes narrowing.

  “Cross my heart,” he replies, gesturing over his chest, and I scoff, as he doesn’t have one. “Not a hair on this pretty boy’s head will be harmed,” he concludes with a sarcastic smile.

  Satisfied with his response, I whimper, “Okay…I’ll do it.”

  “No!” Tristan cries, futilely pulling at his restraints.

  Thomas finds watching Tristan fight against the ropes, which bind his wrists to the arms of the chair, simply hilarious, so I snarl, “Untie him. I’m not going anywhere with you until I know he’s safe.”

  Thomas looks at Phil, like the dog that he is, obviously asking his permission before he proceeds.

  Phil nods. “Fine.” He sighs, brushing a piece of fluff from his black suit jacket, not at all perplexed by the scene before him.

  “Mia, no—don’t. Not for me. Please, don’t risk your life for me,” Tristan begs, fighting Thomas, moving from side to side as Thomas attempts to untie his hands.

  “I have to, Tristan. There’s no other choice. My life is worth sacrificing if it means you get to live. You deserve redemption, but I don’t. I never did,” I sadly confess, thinking back to all the horrible things I’ve done.

  “No!” Tristan bellows, desperately trying to break free. “You’re a good person, Mia. Please don’t give up. I need you. We all need you!”

  “Stay still!” Thomas roars, whipping him across the face with his gun.

  “You said you wouldn’t hurt him!” I scream, my eyes focusing on the trickle of blood pouring from Tristan’s mouth.

  “Oops,” Phil shrugs, unmoved by Thomas’ violence.

  “I’m sorry, Tristan,” I sob into my palm. “Please forgive me.”

  Both Phil and Thomas laugh at my helplessness, while a tear trickles down Tristan’s bloodied cheek.

  “This is suicide,” he cries, his voice cracking.

  “It’s the only way,” I reply in a mere whisper, shaking my head.

  Thomas bends in front of Tristan, pulling a knife from his boot to hopefully untie him. But when the door bursts open, startling the four of us, we all freeze to see who has barged in, and hopefully, saved the day.

  “Mia, are you in here?” Cynthia asks, but gasps when she witnesses the scene of pure bedlam before her.

  The moment Thomas sees her, he slowly stands and his face softens. But just as quickly, it then contorts as if remembering a bitter memory, tainting any love he once had for his wife.

  “Thomas?” she wheezes, her hand flying to her throat.

  But suddenly, something strange happens. I watch as Cynthia’s horrified gaze lands on Phil. She stares at him, never blinking, and I realize, behind her stare I see…recognition, and I also see betrayal.

  But that’s impossible, isn’t it?

  However, my fears are confirmed when she takes a small step toward him, whispering, “Phillip?”

  For the first time in my life, I see something remotely human pass over Phil’s features as he evenly replies, “Hello…little sister.”

  Chapter 18

  Fairytales

  Sister?

  This is her brother?

  This is my uncle?

  Just when I thought my fucked up family history couldn’t get any more messed up, this goes and happens.

  “Sister?” I spit. “You’ve got to be fucking joking.” My sanity has slipped, and I don’t see it returning any time soon.

  There has got to be some mistake, because this man surely cannot be blood. This man, alongside my father, used and abused me for his personal gain, and had no misgivings doing it again.

  How can this be? What have I done to deserve not one, but two family members exploiting me in such a cruel and callous way? Whatever patience I have been holding onto disappears, and I need to harm them both for every, single thing they have done to me over the years.

  A scream rips from my throat as I speed towards Phil, ready to kill him with my bare hands. But as the door flies open, I stop in my tracks, wondering what’s going on. Turning quickly, I see an armed and bloodied Quinn, followed by a terrified Polly, who’s holding a Colt in her shaky hands.

  The next few seconds are the longest of my life, but we all act on instinct, as survival is the only thing that matters to all of us.

  The moment Thomas sees Polly, he swiftly raises his gun and fires. However, Tristan rocks his chair and slams into him, which results in Thomas being knocked off balance, the gun slipping from his hands. As Thomas trips, his temple hits the edge of the desk, knocking him out cold and he slumps to the floor in a messy heap. Tristan’s chair is tipped on its side, and he’s flailing around, attempting to break free from his restraints.

  Cynthia screams, but all I can focus on is Thomas’ gun, which sits discarded under the desk. I make a mad dive for it, scrambling to reach it despite the fact I hear a gun being cocked near my head. I desperately crawl on my hands and knees, and am within inches from reaching it when a shot is fired. I freeze for a nanosecond, and when I conclude I’m not dead, I grab the gun and turn, pointing it out in front of me.

  “You little fuck, you shot me!” Phil yells, clutching the front of his shoulder as he drops to the ground with a thud.

  I turn to look at Quinn, who’s holding the smoking gun.

  “Payback’s a bitch,” he spits out, rushing to my side as I attempt to stand on my unsteady legs.

  “Are you okay?” I sob, throwing myself into his arms and forgetting about my shakiness when I see blood trickling from his ear and swollen eye.

  “I’m fine,” he breathlessly replies, crushing me against his chest and placing frantic kisses all over my temple and cheeks as his hands skim down my body, ensuring I’m not hurt.

  “Well, well, looks like we beat up the wrong guy,” Phil sarcastically says. “Or are you just a little cocktease?”

  “Shut up!” I scream, tearing from Quinn’s embrace and storming over to a snickering Phil, who has propped himself up against the wall, clutching his left shoulder.

  “Maybe you would make more money being a whore.”

  My body trembles in rage, and I stop inches from his feet, aiming the gun at his face.

  “Go ahead and do it.” He shrugs with a chuckle. “Your little redhead friend’s life depends on it.”

  “What?” I gasp, my finger easing off the trigger.

  What has Abi got to do with this?

  “Well, when hotshot over here,” he says, flicking his head toward a seething Tristan, who has thankfully been untied and is standing near Quinn. “Up and left in a huff, we knew he was coming here,” Phil concludes, flinching when he rearranges himself higher up the wall for support.

  “You knew I was here?” I gasp, startled to have my suspicions confirmed.

  “Yes, of course we did,” Phil spits, looking at me like I’m a stupid, foolish girl.

  “Then why?” I protest, my fingers clutching the gun. “If you knew where I was this entire time, why wou
ldn’t you just kill me? Why did you drag this entire ordeal out?” I ask, my voice hitching at the reality that we were never really safe.

  Phil tsks me, his hand pressing his bleeding wound. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to kill you; I want to break you, and all of those around you. I told you, Mia, you’re very valuable to me.”

  Realization kicks in, but I don’t allow him to elaborate as I don’t want Quinn to know why he’s kept me alive, because if he found out that Phil intends to have me going back to my old ways, Quinn would kill him, no questions asked. But the thing is, I need him and Thomas alive to clear our names. That’s the fucked up thing about this, which I’ve only just come to understand.

  We kill them now, how do we explain to the police that the people who we’re accusing of the crimes we supposedly committed are dead in my mother’s home?

  Self-defense? Sadly, that excuse won’t stick.

  Whichever way you look at it, we need them alive until Abi’s dad can clear our names and expose Thomas and Phil for the vile human beings that they are. To the police, Phil is a hippy herbalist with a clean rap sheet, and my deadbeat dad is the father of a delinquent teen, who looks totally guilty of the crimes she’s been accused of. We need Abi’s dad to come through and have solid evidence against them because I mean, who would a jury believe? Me—a troubled teen and a high school dropout with a rap sheet a mile long? Or Phil—the perfect social chameleon, who pays his taxes on time?

  Only when our names are cleared, and Thomas and Phil are rightfully accused and charged for the crimes they’ve committed, can we can dispose of these low-life assholes. But sadly, the only way for the police to charge them would be with their corporation. And for that to happen, I need them both alive.

  There’s no loyalty here, and I know without a doubt one would rat the other out faster than the police can say, ‘reduced sentence for being an informant.’ And when that happens, when they’re both found guilty, cementing our innocence, that’s when I can deliver my own hand of justice.

  The police can lead a blind investigation into their whereabouts, but they’ll both be dead. And they’ll be dead by my hand.

  But now, because of Abi, their survival is all the more imperative.

  “What have you done to her?” I snarl.

  “Nothing. Yet. I’ve had my guys trailing her, and him,” he says, jutting his chin out toward Tristan. “So like I was saying, when he up and left, he left her all alone to fend for herself.” Phil cackles, his voice hoarse after smoking way too many Cuban cigars throughout his life.

  “You son of a bitch!” Tristan yells, lunging forward, but Quinn restrains him.

  Phil snickers with a nonchalant shrug. “Not my fault you’re in love with this little felon. The way she was all over you on the balcony made me think it was him,” he says, gesturing to Quinn, and the blood drains from my face as Quinn no doubt feels a stab of betrayal at his words.

  “With all that junk in your face and the mask, you looked the same, but hey, my bad we put the beat down on the wrong boyfriend.”

  I now realize they thought Tristan was Quinn, as he’s replaced his labret with a lip ring, and with the suit and masks, it does make identifying who’s who a little difficult. But it looks as if Quinn has taken a beating also, but I don’t have time to address that just yet.

  “Answer the question! What have you done to her?” I yell, waving the gun in his face.

  “The moment I don’t call in with my boys, they’ll have their fun with her.” I swallow the bile in my throat as he concludes, “Then they’ll carve her up and bury her, piece by piece, where no one will ever find her.”

  “You’re sick,” I spit. “But I already knew that.”

  Phil shrugs like I’m no fucking genius, figuring that out.

  “Call them off!”

  “No chance in hell,” he laughs, shaking his head.

  “Call them off!” I scream, lunging toward him and pressing the barrel to his temple.

  “Great persuasion skills, you whore,” he cruelly says.

  I smack him across the face with the butt of my gun, refusing to stand silent to his insults a second longer.

  “Oh, you’re going to pay,” he grunts, blood trickling from the wound to his temple.

  “It’ll be worth it to see you dead.” I lightly adjust my finger on the trigger, ready to blow his brains all over the pristine wall.

  My plans to allow him to live have just been made redundant; as I would much rather figure out another way to prove our innocence and save Abi than have this motherfucker take another breath.

  “Mia, no!” Cynthia yells, halting my movements.

  “Please don’t tell me you feel anything for this rodent,” I spit, my eyes never wavering from Phil’s.

  “No, of course not, but you can’t do that here. It’ll ruin Chandler,” she sobs.

  You’ve got to be shitting me. I have Hank’s murderer within my grasp, and all she cares about is her fucking husband. However, my voice of reason taps me on the shoulder by wrapping a warm hand around the gun I’m shakily holding.

  “She’s right, Red. They’ll know it’s us. It’ll get complicated and sticky for all of us,” Quinn says, never forcing my hand, only providing the support I so desperately need.

  I want to scream at Quinn, reminding him that this was our plan from the very beginning—to kill Phil and Thomas. Yes, when the original plan was set in motion, it was going to be done so anonymously, tying us in no way to their murder. But now, everything has changed, and I know he’s right.

  When on the run, it was so much easier to orchestrate a plan where my dad and Phil ended up dead. But here and now, things are so different. Their dead bodies will lead directly to us, and it’s not only Quinn and I who will pay the price, but rather, everyone in this room, in this house, will be a suspect. It’s all so complicated, and that’s why Phil chose tonight, as it’s the perfect time to strike.

  When we do this, it can’t be in a house full of witnesses, who have already most likely heard the commotion upstairs, and also heard the stray gunshot, which when I turn, I see is imbedded in Cynthia’s leg.

  “Oh my god, you’re shot!” I scream, only just resisting the urge to go over and see if she’s okay.

  “It’s just a flesh wound, I’m fine,” she says, holding her hand over her bleeding thigh.

  I suddenly become aware of my surroundings, as the only thing I have been focused on is my revenge. My need for vengeance has blinded me to the people around me, and I hate that I allowed my humanity to slip.

  Polly is sitting in the corner with her gun laid by her feet, white as a ghost. She has her legs drawn up to her chest, and sits rocking, backward and forward, with her eyes closed. She hums an indistinguishable tune, but the harmony does nothing to conceal her fear.

  My heart breaks because a sixteen-year-old doesn’t need to see this. Just because this is my normal, and this is my world, I tend to forget how to others, this is far from being normal. I’ve just taken away Polly’s innocence and for that, I will never forgive myself.

  “Let’s go,” Quinn softly says, and I turn, confused, as to where we should go.

  “Go?” I question. “What about them?” I look at an unconscious Thomas, and a near passed out Phil.

  “We leave them here and we run,” Quinn says slowly, as if addressing a child.

  “No! We kill them both!” I stubbornly argue, shaking my head at the possibility of letting them live.

  “Please, Mia, no, not here,” Cynthia once again begs. “Chandler’s career will be ruined. Please don’t.”

  I despise that everyone is taking away my one chance at killing the two people who ruined my life. And the two people who killed Hank. This moment is what has been driving me for so many weeks, and now that I’ve been told no, I just can’t accept it.

  “We’ll take them with us!” I scream, tearing at my hair, my eyes narrowing when Phil’s lips tip up into a sinister grin.

  “We can ke
ep them hostage until our names are cleared. Hell, it’ll be worth going to jail to see them both dead. To see them pay for what they did to Hank,” I add with vehemence.

  As I think of Hank’s last moments on this earth, my finger twitches on the trigger, ready to claim my retribution.

  But Quinn softly squeezes my hand with his. “Let’s go.”

  “Let her do it, Quinn! He deserves to die for what he did, and for what he wants her to do!” I spin toward Tristan, silently begging him not to disclose our secret.

  He thankfully let’s it go, and turns his head away, clenching his jaw.

  “Why can’t they go with us?” I yell, knowing the answer.

  “Because of the five hundred witnesses downstairs,” Quinn calmly replies. “Someone will see us, and then we’ll be in even more trouble. All of Abi’s dad’s hard work would have been pointless if we get caught. Abi’s life depends on his survival, Red.” He sighs, hating this reality as much as I do.

  He’s right, but I don’t want to see reason. “There’s a back way? There’s got to be a back way?” I beg, looking at Cynthia.

  “Do you really think he’ll go quietly?” She sniffles, and I look at Phil, who smirks menacingly.

  No doubt he’ll create a song and a dance about being kidnapped. And if we gag him, we risk someone seeing us. God dammit!

  “So, what, we just leave him here?” I ask, disbelieving this is even an option.

  No, I refuse to accept this. “Make the guests leave,” I fruitlessly demand, because I know that would draw even more attention to our situation.

  There really is no other choice. But leaving them here without any consequence for what they did leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

  Sagging in defeat, I whisper, “He killed, Hank. He needs to pay.”

  “And he will,” Quinn states, slowly unwrapping my clammy fingers from the gun.

  “How do we know he won’t cause a scene with the guests when we leave?” I ask. It’s my final plea.

  Phil answers me this time. I almost forgot he was here. “Because, Mia, you know how I hate witnesses, and I don’t have a problem with the lovely guests downstairs because they don’t owe me millions of dollars, unlike you. No, my only problem is with you. And because of that, the people you love will pay for your sins.” He smirks. “Those people downstairs can enjoy their Christmas and I’ll sneak out, undetected, like I was never here, as I too do not wish to draw attention to myself. I want you, Mia Lee, only you. Those people aren’t collateral, but everyone in this room is,” he says, looking at every single person behind me. “So you better run far, far, far away, because when I find you, I’m not going to be so lenient.”