“Those nieces of yours. Why all girls?”
“I don’t know—”
I slam the butt of the gun down on his face so hard his teeth crack. He sits up, reaching for my weapon, but I shoot him in the shoulder. The suppressor on the end of my barrel lets off a soft supersonic crack that sounds more like a harmless firecracker than a gun.
But it does the job and blood splatter is everywhere. Brett rolls with the force of the high-velocity cartridge and he ends up face down on the bed.
I wish I had time for a lengthy conversation—I’d like to get some answers. Maybe an apology. Or even a pathetic justification. We’re saving the world, Sydney. I wish I had time for that, because maybe I’d feel better about the evil people do in the name of the Company.
But I don’t have time for that. I feel sick and I just want to leave. Plus the back of his head is too much of an invitation to let it pass.
Assassination-style is how Brett enters the darkness.
My heart doesn’t even beat fast over this kill. Not one bit. Because he deserves it.
The many stops on the side of the road came with memories. More proof that my life is just one long lie.
The sisters up at the lodge? Not sisters. Wives.
Those adorable tow-headed baby girls? Future collateral damage.
My wedding to Brett? A promise made years ago by my father.
Garrett knew, which was why he bowed out of the ‘relationship’ we had and disappeared. Oh, the brainwashing continued. I was too volatile to leave to my own devices. But over time, I stopped resisting with the help of drugs. Brett made sure I kept those up while we were officially together.
When all this hit me on the way home, I thought there was no way I could change any of it. I was still reeling from the lies and betrayal. Still filled with self-loathing and shame. And maybe this doesn’t change anything? Maybe those wives of his really are on board with what they’re doing? I have no way of knowing.
But taking this man’s life has to change things in some way. Even if it’s a small way. Maybe it makes those little girls’ lives better. Maybe not. But knowing Brett met his end gives me peace. At least I tried. I can’t kill their mothers and live with myself. I’m not Case. So I settle with erasing Brett’s influence over them.
It’ll have to do, because it’s all I’ve got.
I did my best.
“Revenge is never sweet if it’s justified.”
– Sydney
The drive home fills me with more dread than I expected. Everything about it is lies. I just… I just can’t face it.
But I’ve been missing for weeks. On the road for days. And I need to stop running right now. I need to face facts. I need to pick myself up and figure out a plan. I need to figure out how the person I thought I was and the person I really am can come to terms.
My escape fantasy life is gone. I didn’t even mean for it to happen. I guess reality has consequences. But it’s hard. I feel so alone.
I drive down the quiet Cheyenne street in Old Town. When I get to my building, I park in the alley behind the bar, planning on sleeping in the truck before I try to figure out what to do. But if I’m going to leave and find my own way in this world, I’d like to take one more look at the only thing that ever gave me pleasure.
I get out and remember that I have no keys. The building is a hundred and twenty years old though. Not all the windows lock properly. I don’t need keys.
I climb the fire escape up to the second floor and shimmy through the office window. The sun is just coming up, so a little light seeps in when I push the curtains aside.
Looks the same as ever. My desk is a mess of bills and delivery receipts. The walls are decorated with pictures of various ribbon-winning 4-H livestock that I’ve purchased at the state fair auction over the years. Boxes of unopened liquor bottles are stacked in one corner. My coats are hanging on wall hooks near the door. There’s a nice layer of dust covering everything too. I think I love that the most. It makes me feel better that Brett didn’t come in here after I was gone. It makes me feel like he never cared about this place like I did, like it really did belong to me and only me.
That’s something, I guess. Not much, but something.
I make my way downstairs and head over to the cash register. I know it’s empty, but a girl can hope. I don’t dare take any money out of my bank account. I did, after all, just kill Brett Setton. Some precautions are in order. It makes me feel like I’m making an effort to live through this and not give up.
There’s not many windows in the bar. And the ones it does have are all high up and small. Like basement windows. But there’s enough light to see. The bar is clean and the chairs are stacked on top of the tables. Like it would look any morning. Like all that shit never happened and this is just another day.
But it’s not. It’s my last day as Sydney Channing. I don’t want to be her anymore.
I press the buttons on the cash register to make the drawer pop open and then stare down at it for a few seconds before I can come to terms with what I’m seeing.
Stacks upon stacks of twenty-dollar bills. All neatly tied together with one of those paper ribbons the bank puts on them.
“I figured you could use it.”
I turn to a dark corner where the quiet voice came from. Merc is sitting in the shadows, his face hidden until he leans forward and a beam of dim sunshine decides to give him up. He hasn’t shaved. There’s a weathered cowboy hat on the table, his arms are stretched around it, and his hands are folded out in front. He looks as tired and sad as I feel.
“I don’t need you,” I say.
“I know that.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I need you.”
I back away from him, even though he hasn’t moved and he’s all the way across the room, until I bump up against the liquor cabinet. “Get out.”
“I will,” he says, standing up but not taking a step forward. “But I deserve a chance to tell the story my way. If you want me to leave, leave knowing why I really did all those things. Not because you’ve conjured up some story in your head.”
“Oh my God.” I laugh a little. “I might not know everything, but there are a few indisputable facts that can’t be ignored about you, Merc.”
He squints his amber eyes at the name. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? That’s who you are, remember? The man you made yourself into. Own it, Merc. You’re a killer. You’re a liar. And you use girls to do your dirty work. Just like Garrett did. So stop with your holier-than-thou attitude and just own it.”
He shrugs, but looks away for a moment. Doubts, that’s what that look says. “I deserve that. But if you’ve got me on a timer, I’d like to have my say before you verbally punch me in the face and tell me to get out.”
His hands are folded in front of him now. He’s standing still and tall as he waits for my answer.
I throw my hands up. “Talk then.”
He clears his throat and lifts his chin up. Steadying himself for something.
It makes me more nervous than I’d like to admit. What will this monster tell me next? What bad news does he have to deliver now?
“I take it back, Sydney. Leaving you behind like that. I made a mistake—”
“Fuck. You.” I feel the tears well up in my eyes. “After all that shit you talked to me? You think I’m going to let you walk into my fucking bar and fill me up with more of your lies? Fuck you.”
He stands silent.
“You fucked up.”
“I know.”
“You never chose me, Merc. You never put me first. You only helped me to help yourself. When I said I hated you, I meant it. My verbal fist just punched your time clock. Get the fuck out.”
He lets off a huff of air and nods. “OK.” And then he grabs his hat and walks around the table towards me. I have a moment of panic that he will both come towards me and leave for good. But he doesn’t do either. He stops about fifteen feet from me, in the middle of the room, pretty much.