with me, Amara.
“What do you want to know?” John asks, taking a seat again. His eyes drift to the door, and I wonder if he is expecting someone to come. If so, I have to speed this whole thing up.
The gun in my hand feels heavy as guilt presses down hard on my chest.
“I think we both know the answer to that question. I want answers, I want to know who ordered you to kill my mother, and I don’t want to go in a fucking circle trying to get them.” My voice turns animalistic as my gaze bleeds into John’s. I can see the beads of sweat forming on his face even from across the room.
That’s right, fucker. I have your one and only weakness in my grasp.
“Dad, just tell him you didn’t do it.” Amara’s voice croaks as she speaks. John’s gaze slips from mine to hers.
“Things are about to get really fucking bloody if you don’t tell me what I want to fucking know.”
His meaty hand rubs over his bald head and then down his face as worry forms in his eyes.
“I killed your mom. My partner and I were working for the FBI at the time, and I killed her. It’s not like we fucking wanted to. We were just following orders.” His words seem far away. Like they are coming from a different room. Slowly, what he says reaches my mind, trickling in like water drops from a leaky faucet.
“You didn’t want to?” I echo his words, my voice shaking at the end with raw anger surging through me.
“Your father’s organization had killed tons of our men. Our job was to go in and snuff you out. We needed to put an end to the family and after your father died was the perfect time to strike. You and your mother were the last loose strings in the mix of things. You know what they say about loose…”
“A loose string? A loose string to what? A woman and a child,” I scream. My voice morphs into something I don’t recognize, and the next moment, I lunge for him.
His gun goes off, but I don’t feel any pain. I’m not sure if he misses or if I’m simply so consumed by rage that I’m numb. I slap the gun from his hand and watch it fly across the living room, leaving him helpless and at my mercy.
This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. I shouldn’t feel so conflicted about this.
Turning his face up to me, he smiles. It’s in his smile that I lose all uncertainty about killing him and find the need to finish the job. He deserves to die—a death for a death.
Suddenly, everything moves in slow motion. I can hear Amara’s screams as I lift the gun, placing the barrel against his forehead.
I pull the trigger.
No remorse shatters within me, not even as I watch his brains splatter on the floor behind him. Not as I watch his eyes go blank, and his chest stop moving. Not even as realization sets in that I just killed the father of the woman I love… in front of her.
Instead, I stand above him, watching life leave his body.
Amara’s cries turn to lunatic screams as she scrambles across the floor. Her small hands paw at his shirt as she pleads with him to wake up and be alive.
“Daddy,” she cries, tears streaking through the dirt on her face, and in this moment, I don’t even care. I don’t care about anything. I don’t feel anything.
I thought I would be happy, proud that I finally avenged my mother, at the very least relieved. Instead, I feel… nothing at all.
“Get up,” I say sternly.
She shakes her head, sobs wracking her small body.
“How the fuck could you do this?” She turns to me, rendering me speechless by the hatred filling her glare. “How could you! I hate you!”
She has told me that she hated me before, but this is the first time I actually believe her. She hates me, and that’s my own doing.
“A life for a life. We’re even,” I murmur, knowing damn well we are not even. She’s never done anything to me, yet I took everything from her. She has every right to hate me, but I still can’t let her go.
“Get up, we need to leave before his men come up here,” I order as I holster my gun.
She shuffles to her feet, tears still falling from her eyes, cascading down her cheeks. “You