Jane didn’t scream like the first time, because the more this kept happening, the more it felt normal. That’s how Nick had gotten them. The drills and the rehearsals and the constant state of paranoia had all hypnotized them into believing that what they were doing was not just reasonable, but necessary.
Paula broke the silence this time. “We have to finish it.”
Jane could only stare at her.
Paula said, “Put the pillow over her head, or just use your hands to cover her mouth and pinch her nose closed. Unless you want to try to stab her in the heart? Drown her in that bucket of piss?”
Jane felt bile stream up her throat. She turned, but not quickly enough. Vomit spewed onto the floor. She pressed her hands against the wall. She opened her mouth and tried not to wail.
How could she bring a child into this terrible, violent world?
“Christ,” Paula said. “You can watch your own daddy being shot, but a gal bumps her head—”
“Penny,” Andrew cautioned.
“Jinx,” Nick tried to put his hand on Jane’s back, but she shrugged him off. “I didn’t mean to do it. I just—I wasn’t thinking. She hurt you. She was still trying to hurt you.”
“It’s moot.” Quarter was pressing two fingers to the woman’s neck. “She doesn’t have a pulse.”
“Well, fuck,” Paula mumbled. “What a surprise.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Andrew said. “What’s done is done.” He, too, was looking at Jane. “It’s all right. I mean, no, of course it’s not all right, but it was an accident, and we have to get past it because there are more important things at play here.”
“He’s right,” Quarter said. “We still have Stanford, Chicago, New York.”
Paula said, “You know I’m still in. I’m not like little Miss Princess here. You should’ve stuck to your volunteer work with the other rich ladies. I knew you’d wimp out the second things got messy.”
Jane finally allowed herself to look at Nick. His chest was heaving. His fists were still clenched. The skin along the back of his knuckles was torn where he’d punched Alexandra Maplecroft in the face.
Who was this man?
“I can’t—” Jane started, but she could not say the words.
“You can’t what?” Nick wiped the back of his hand on his pants. Blood smeared across like dirty fingerprints. There was more blood on the sleeve of his shirt. Jane looked down at her trousers. Red slashes crossed her legs. Speckles dotted her blouse.
“I can’t—” she tried again.
“Can’t what?” Nick asked. “Jinx, talk to me. What can’t you do?”
Do this, be a part of this, hurt more people, live with the secrets, live with the guilt, give life to your child because I will never, ever be able to explain to her that you are her father.
“Jinxie?” Nick had recovered from his shock. He was giving her his half grin. He wrapped his hands around her arms. He pressed his lips to her forehead.
She wanted to resist. She told herself to resist. But her body moved toward his and then he was holding her and she was letting herself take comfort from the warmth of his embrace.
The yo-yo flipping back on itself.
Andrew said, “Let’s go downstairs and—”
Suddenly, Quarter made a gulping sound.
His entire body jerked, his arms flying into the air. Blood burst from his chest.
A millisecond later, Jane heard the loud crack of a rifle firing, the sound of glass breaking in the window pane.
She was already lying flat on the floor when she realized what was happening.
Someone was shooting at them.