She jerks her eyes to mine as we slowly enter, and she raises the gun and backs into the closet. “No, no. No. No. No. No. Don’t come any closer! Stop.”
I hold my hands up in surrender as I take small steps toward her. Kai is behind me, Michail on his tail, both men mimicking my pose. One goes left and the other right.
Her hands are shaking as she aims the weapon. I keep my eyes locked with hers. “Look at me, Angel. Calm down. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
“I had to do it.” Her voice shakes as she explains. “I couldn’t let him hurt me again. Not again.”
I glance at the body as my feet hit the puddle of blood. There’s a Taser in his hand, clutched tight in his dead hands. I really can’t say I’m sad he’s gone, nor that Valentina got to be the one to take his miserable life. Except she doesn’t look so good.
Shock. It has to be shock.
“Calm down. It’s okay. You’re safe. Put the gun down, and we can get out of here. He can’t hurt you again, I promise.”
She blinks and looks down at her father. Then the gun slips from her hand to hit the floor, the sound buffered by the cheap ratty carpet. How did she find this hellhole?
Kai reaches down and snatches the gun from her reach. “No serial number. That’ll make things easier.”
I charge forward now and grab her hard, wrapping my arms around her entirely. She doesn’t resist, only stands there letting me hold her, rigid and breathing in ragged pants.
“Angel,” I whisper into her hair. She’s wearing an old baseball cap that smells stale and moldy, so I toss it away. Underneath, her pinned-up curls smell the same…they smell like her, and I breathe her in. “Angel, I’ve got you. Let’s get out of here so Kai can handle this mess. Don’t worry, nothing will happen to you. Your father got what he deserved.”
I pull away only enough to look down at her face. She looks pale, and tears still pour down her cheeks. Suddenly, she clamps her hands on my arms, frantic and crazed. “I had to do it. I had to protect him. You believe me, don’t you? You believe me?”
38
VALENTINA
I’ve never thought of myself as particularly strong. Not like Rose was. Right now, the idea of being strong is mocking me. Every part of my body is trembling, and all I can do is cling to Adrian while he drags me stumbling toward the car parked outside the motel room. I don’t see any of the other faces as I pass them by, and I don’t hear anything but my heartbeat in my own ears. That, and the sound of the gunshot on repeat in my mind. The hot sticky wetness of my father’s blood clinging to my fingers, to my clothes.
I’m seconds from breaking. Something inside me finally snaps under the pressure. My father tried to ruin me for years, and it’s almost ironic he’d succeed but only by forcing me to take his life. Sal is gone. My father is gone. Rose is gone. I’m the only one left.
I clutch my hand over my stomach and tuck my chin, hoping he doesn’t read me, like he always does, so easily.
Even though he’s probably going to kill me, the grip of his hand is offering me the tiniest bit of comfort, the only thing keeping me clinging to sanity at this point.
The world goes fuzzy, and I hear the gunshot again, so loud, echoing in my head.
I’m bodily picked up and set on the warm leather of the SUV. Adrian is gone, the door closed in my face, but then he’s come around to slide in beside me behind the driver’s seat.
“Angel,” he whispers.
A hot tear slides down my cheek. Why is it hot? Oh, I’m freezing. That’s why I’m shaking. I feel so cold I expect to see my breath fogging out in front of me with every exhale. But no, it’s inside me. What I’ve done is inside me now, forever.
“Angel,” he says again, louder this time. I look up at his face.
I don’t find anger there, but I can’t pinpoint the look he’s giving me right now, not with this noise in my head. “I…I…” I slump, trying to get something out, to explain any of it…all of it?
A band comes across my chest and takes me a moment to figure out he’s buckled the seat belt and then pulled it tight. Then he wraps my hands around a silver flask.
“Drink this, Angel. It’ll help you get back to yourself.” He guides my hands, still clutching the flask, up to my mouth. I stare into his eyes as I take a heavy swallow. It’s some kind of whiskey, and it burns all the way down to my belly. The heat cuts the cold, firing a path through the chill and the haze. He’s right, it helps. This time I take another long gulp without his assistance and cough through the resulting burn.