Chapter Thirty Three
Seventeen years old
Dad’s office is dark and quiet. The only sound is the grandfather clock that was given to him by my grandfather when he married Mom.
I sit listening to the slow methodical ticks, counting down the seconds, cementing what I was here to do.
Ronan pushes the mahogany door open, his silhouette from the hall light elongated on the dark wooden floor, stopping short of my dad’s desk. He sways, and I think he’s drunk as he leans against the doorway to prop himself up. His usually perfectly styled dirty blond hair is sticking up all over the place, his suit jacket dishevelled on his shoulders.
He stalks forward into the room, and I turn on the desk lamp like some Bond villain.
“Where is she?” he snarls, his green eyes red, giving him a deranged sort of look, along with the dark circles lining his eyes that make him appear like he hasn’t slept for days. He might not have been my father’s biological son, but the familiar sneer was shared between the two.
I shrug and lean back against my father’s chair, the leather creaking as I move. I watch as he walks over to the drinks cart and pours himself a large shot of whisky, throwing it back and pouring another.
“She’s mine, Stevie,” he says, low and dangerous. “She’s carrying something that is mine, and I would like to know where the fuck they are.”
“She’s just a child,” I say in a whisper, barely able to voice my anger because my throat hurts so much from crying. “She’s just a fucking child.”
He laughs.
Not his usual laugh, but one laced with malice and vile promises. This one sounds so different from the light and joyful one he gave the last time I heard it.
He runs a hand across his blonde stubble, and I watch the movements. For years, I thought our half-brother was handsome in a proud sister sort of way, but that was before. Now I can only see the hideousness of his features; his cruel emerald eyes, his callous smile, and the sharpness of his jaw that displays nothing gentle or soft about him.
“She sure didn’t moan like a child,” he taunts.
Bile rises up my throat, and my hands start to shake. I curl them around the gun my dad kept in his top drawer that is now sitting on my lap, and I try to ground myself. I hate Ronan. I hate him with every fibre in my body.
“You raped her,” I spat, finally finding my voice.
“She was fully consenting, Stevie,” Ronan says with a flick of his hand. “Funny how feeding her a few little lines about how pretty she was, how she was so grown-up, looking like such a woman and not a little girl, about how much I loved her…”
He strolled over to the wingback chair in a corner next to a large bookcase filled with several first editions on the shelves. He slumps down, crossing one foot over his knee, balancing his glass on his foot and reaching over to place a bottle of beer I didn’t see him holding on to the table beside him.
“Little things to make her feel special and important over the last year.” He smirked. “She was more than willing to give me what I wanted as a twenty-first birthday present. Something that no one else would get after me.”
I stopped breathing, my whole body vibrating with anger, disgust, and guilt.
“I should have protected her,” I murmur. “I should have kept her away from you.”
He lets out another hollow laugh. “Oh, Stevie, Stevie, Stevie,” he tsks, taking another sip of his drink. “Chris is mine. Mine to have, mine to use, mine to keep. And you…” He stands, swaying as he walks towards my father’s desk once more. “You are keeping me away from my property and my future. So I will ask you again, where is she?”
I stand up from the chair on shaky legs, holding the gun by my side, hidden from Ronan’s view under the desk. I shake my head.
“She’s somewhere you can never get to her. Somewhere safe.”
He lurches forward over the desk and wraps his hand around my throat, squeezing so hard that my eyes start to dance with black dots.
“Tell me where the fuck she is, you fucking bitch!” he screams in my face, his hand tightening. I can see it in his eyes; he doesn’t mind hurting me to get to her.
I gather up the saliva in my mouth and spit it out so it lands on his cheek. He releases me and I suck in a breath, slumping forward. His mouth turns up, showing his teeth as he wipes off my spit with his forearm.
“Maybe I chose the wrong sister,” he snarls, looking at the wet patch on his arm glistening in the low light emitting from the desk lamp. “Chris was always the better looking of you two, but she never did have the fight in her to make it more fun, not like you.” He looks at me, his eyes devoid of colour. He starts to round the desk as I step back, matching his pace with the gun behind my back.
“I know the way you fight back with your dad. I watch the way you defy him. I’ve seen how he has tried to break you with little success. So maybe I’ll try the older of my two sisters, see which one’s better. See if I can be the one to break you.” He starts to unbuckle his belt, the jingle of the metal hitting the floor, causing me to jump. He moves quickly, pushing the chair out of the way so there is nothing in between us. He licks his lips and smirks, taking one more step toward me.
My arms come up, and I pull the trigger.
Several loud pop, pop, pops fill the room as I empty the clip into his chest. The green in his eyes reappears brightly as agony fills them. His hands come to his chest, covering them in his blood. He stumbles forward, crashing into me, coating me in it too as he falls to his knees, then slumps to the ground.
He’s not moving.
And I’m shaking.
He’s not breathing.
And I’m cold.
He’s gone.
And I’m not crying. Why am I not crying?
“Stevie?”
“Stevie?”
“Stevie? Where are you?”
It’s Alex. He’s here. He’s come to help me.
I’m sitting under my father’s desk, catatonic, as I keep staring at Ronan’s body. My knees are up to my chest, and I’m holding them tight, digging my fingernails into the thin cotton of my leggings.
“Fuck, Stevie, what happened?” Alex’s warm hands are in mine, pulling me out from under the desk and into his arms. He’s running his hands through my blood-stained hair, whispering sweet things, I think, trying to get me to move.
Mac runs into the office, heading straight for me and speaking so quickly to Alex that I don’t register what they are saying.
I shot my brother.
Mac pulls me from Alex’s embrace and leads me down the hall to my room. He bangs the door open, causing it to ricochet off the wall, and he pulls me toward the shower, turning it on.
He lifts my cream knitted jumper and vest top, smeared with Ronan’s blood, over my head and tosses it to the ground, leaving me in my bra.
I feel him tug off my leggings, helping me step out of one leg, then the other, before walking me back to sit on the closed toilet.
“What are you doing?” Alex asks as Mac starts to strip himself down to his boxer briefs. I stare at the two brothers standing in my bathroom. One fully dressed and the other naked, save for underwear. But my brain doesn’t take in the sight. They are blurs, faceless figures standing in my bathroom as I relive pulling the trigger over and over.
I shot my brother.
“Call Will,” Mac demands. “We need him to sort this fucking mess out.”
“We can’t,” Alex says. “You know he will expect payment for this.”
“We can worry about that later,” Mac replies, pulling me into his bare chest that has a scattering of ink across his pecs and stepping us both into the shower cubical. He closes the glass door, caging us in a warmth that can’t seem to penetrate the cold deep in my bones.
Mac hugs me tighter, cradling my head in one large palm, holding me against his heart.
I can hear its melodic thudding.
“Now, Alex!” he shouts, and Alex moves into my bedroom, leaving us alone in the shower.
“Never thought this is how I’d get you naked, darlin’,” Mac coos with a small laugh as my whole body starts to tremble.
I shot my brother.
Mac rearranges me so he’s behind me and starts to wash my hair and my body, ridding me of any blood. The water turns pink before turning clear and soapy. The scent of apple from my shampoo turns my stomach and I heave.
I lean forward and throw up the contents of my stomach into the shower tray. Mac rubs my back, holding my wet hair back in one hand as he tells me everything will be okay. He doesn’t seem to mind we are both standing in my sick as it slowly drains away.
Alex appears again, holding a fluffy white bath towel. Mac opens the shower door and passes me to his brother. Alex engulfs me in the soft cotton and moves his arms up and down my body, drying me. He brings the towel down my legs and my arms come to my chest in reflex, covering my now see-through bra.
Alex wraps the towel back around my body and leads me to the bedroom, where he has fresh clothes laid out on the bedspread.
He whispers something about ‘not looking’ as he unhooks my bra and slides it down my arms, reaching for an oversized white t-shirt and pulling it over my head. It drops and hangs low, well past to cover my ass as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my girl-boxers and drags them down my legs, dropping them on top of the bra with a wet thud.
He helps me put on the black joggers he chose for me and sits me on the edge of the bed as he gently rubs the towel over my wet hair. I close my eyes and see his lifeless face.
Heavy footsteps are heard banging up the stairs and along the corridor to my room. I don’t move. I don’t turn to see who it is. I just remain facing forward.
“What did you do?” Will asks, dropping to his haunches and looking directly at me, his huge cold hands grabbing my biceps.
“She killed–”
“Not you, Alex. I want her to say it.” He takes my chin between his forefinger and thumb, his touch gentle compared to his harsh tone. “What did you do, Stevie?”
“Will, don’t be a fucking dick. Can’t you see she’s in shock? Just help her!” Mac says, appearing in the bathroom doorway, fully dressed, with his wet boxers in his hand.
“Stevie? What did you do?” Will asks again, ignoring his protesting brothers but softening his voice as he says, “You need to say it out loud, sweetheart.”
I shot my brother.
“I shot my brother,” I whisper. Will’s grip tightens.
“And what do you need?”
“I need your help,” I say.
“And what will you give me?”
“For fuck’s sake, Will,” snarls Alex from my side.
“Anything,” I reply.
“Very well.” Will stands up and brings out his phone, taps a few times, then puts it back in his pocket. “Get her out of here, take her to the house. I will let you know when it’s taken care of.”
Alex swears under his breath but nods, taking me by the arm and pulling me to my feet. Mac comes to my other side, linking his hand with mine as Alex takes my other hand.
And that’s when the tears fall, but it’s not because of what I’d done.
I shot my brother.
I shot and killed my brother.
I shot and killed my brother, dead.