Twenty Two
ASH
I might have lost my mind. Damn shame I don’t miss it.
I may never know what snapped inside of me, but I’ve somehow severed all connection between my mind and body. My bloody fists pound against the solid door, but I don’t feel any pain.
I had given up. I had stepped away from her welcome mat and accepted the fact that Calla was just another chapter ending—another door closing in the fucking funhouse of my past. Lately, I’ve been closing so many doors that I don’t know of any that stand open anymore.
But then I heard her scream.
And now that sound echoes over and over in my mind.
Her voice unlocked something raw and primitive inside of me as I take out all of my rage on the barrier between us. I’m not surprised I’ve finally snapped. I’m just surprised it took me as long as it did.
And now Calla is in there with God knows what, and I can’t get to her. I pull back, fisting my hair and screaming at the top of my lungs. My scream echoes up and down the narrow street, but it still doesn’t replace the echo of Calla’s screams torturing my mind. Fire ignites in my stomach as I stare at the door, praying to God for help. I’m just about to ram it with my shoulder again when it flies open.
I don’t see the gun. I don’t see the dog snarling at my feet. I don’t see the doors opening up and down the street. But I do see Calla. I do see the blood on both cheeks. I do see the fear in her eyes. I hear her shattered breath. I feel her fear and her panic as she stands illuminated by the light behind her, staring me down, silently asking me the same question Jacob had.
Raising my bloody fists in surrender, I shake my head back and forth and whisper, “No. I should have but no, I didn’t know.”
She doesn’t lower her gun. She seems frozen on the spot but casts her eyes down to Simba. He hasn’t yet moved out of the doorframe, his body hovering over Calla’s shadow. The low pitch of his growl and the defensive stance of his body tell me I should back up, preferably as far away as the other side of the street.
I swallow. “Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head no and I let out a breath.
“Is that your blood?”
Calla brings her eyes back up to mine but doesn’t say a word. I realize I’m not only waiting for her to answer, but I’m waiting to hear her voice. I need to hear it. I’ve lived so many lies, pretended through so many friendships that I don’t know what memories are real anymore.
Rethers’ voice makes us both jump.
“Hate to get cut and run.”
Calla spins around and Simba follows, running into the apartment. In the distance, I hear police sirens, but I don’t stop and wait for back up.
Some things never change.
I brush against Calla as I run into her apartment and put my body in front of her, trying to protect her. I scan the living room and kitchen and then take off running into the bedroom and bathroom. I throw open every door, praying like hell he’s behind one of them, but come up empty. Simba follows in my step with his nose to the floor. Once every inch has been inspected, Simba and I look at each other and share a moment of confusion.
“Like I said. Had to run.”
His voice is back out by the kitchen but aside from a pool of blood, I don’t see him anywhere. I shoot a glance back at Calla, but she’s still standing in the doorway with her gun raised. Tears slide down her cheeks, but she doesn’t make a move to wipe them away.
“Dogs got a bite on him, but he did good. Couldn’t have imagined a better way to fake my own end. You hear my screams? Fucking Golden Globe worthy. In Ruinam might even wonder if I kicked the bucket. Won’t that be sweet? Don’t want you to worry, I’ll live. A few stitches and my ass will be good as new.”
“Where the fuck are you?” I scream into the vacant apartment. I grab a knife out of the wooden block and hold it firm in my hand. “Get the fuck out here, fucking coward.”
“I don’t know about that, Sanders.” His voice seems to be coming from somewhere on the floor. I squat down I see a small black rectangle sitting on the top of a vent. “Some would say I’m pretty damn brave. I know one or two people who would even call me a hero for posting your girl on the internet. Not too hard on the eyes, if you know what I mean. I’d love to sit and chat but I’m getting blood on the Porsche. That shit’s hard to get out.”
Calla lowers the height of her gun and leans against the doorframe. I take a step toward her, but she locks eyes with me and shakes her head.
Adrenaline fills my veins as I grind out between clenched teeth, “I’ll find you.”
He chuckles but it sounds weak. “Hmm. While I could use a good laugh, no, you won’t find me. You won’t even look for me.”
It’s my turn to bark out a laugh but I grip the knife harder. “You really are delusional.”
He sighs into whatever device he’s holding. “I wish. Sanders, I fucking wish I was.” I draw back, surprised by his unsteady voice. “But I’m not and like I said, it’s over. Her term is done and so is mine. I know this shit’s been hard, and I know it’s only going to get harder on you. Roll with it and let it go.”
I shake my head. “You know that’s not going to happen.”
“Don’t open this any further. You do and you’ll force the police to dig deeper. They’ll notice that things don’t add up. They’ll notice holes in my story. They’ll realize I know very little about a case you’ll tell them I put together. They’ll start to suspect that I’m just the front man— the person In Ruinam put on the firing line to take the pressure off the real assassin. Let this one go, Ash. I’m telling you. You want to let this go before they find out who really choreographed this whole thing.” He pauses as if waiting for the connections to form in my mind.
I raise my head slowly, my eyes landing on Calla as she draws in a breath and holds her hand over her mouth.
Rethers voice shakes when he says, “Even your Daddy wouldn’t be able to save Cole from this one.”