He knows this is the end.
“This won’t hurt,” I say, stepping closer and aiming my gun at his forehead. “It’ll just be like going to sleep. Any last words?”
Duncan glances at the photograph behind me.
“Front bedroom upstairs,” he says. “There’s a bag under my bed. Twelve thousand dollars. It’s not much, but it’s legit money. I mean, I earned it. Cleared my accounts yesterday. Make sure my kids get it, please? I want them to use it for college.”
“Okay. Where do they live?” Duncan gulps. “My issue is with you, not your family. I don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it.”
He nods. “62 Millwater Avenue.”
“Okay. They’ll get it before sundown tonight.”
My finger trembles on the trigger and something doesn’t feel right.
“I’ll double the money,” I add. “Not your kids’ fault their father is a degenerate.”
“Thank you,” he mimes before closing his eyes.
Fuck! What the hell is wrong with me? Not even offering to financially reward this prick is helping.
Psyching myself up, I step closer and press the gun to his forehead.
This is going to be a lot messier, but I try to remind myself what this bastard would have done to Harper if I hadn’t shown up that night.
He would have taken her innocence and ruined her fucking life.
She would’ve relived what happened to her every single day.
He doesn’t deserve to breathe.
“Say hello to the devil,” I say, staring at the single tear slipping from his eye.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers as I pull back the trigger.
With his life balancing on the tip of my finger, Duncan repeats his apology over and over again.
“Shut the fuck up,” I hiss, but he doesn’t stop.
Harper’s naked body and big blue eyes flood my mind, and I grit my teeth.
“Maybe you are a scorpion,”she whispers in my head. “But you don’t have to use your sting. We always have choices.”
“Fuck!” I shout, spit congealing on my lips. “Open your fucking eyes!”
A nervous Duncan looks up at me. “What’s happening?”
“Do you love your kids?” I shout, lowering my gun.
“Y-yeah,” he stammers. “Didn’t realize how much until these past few days. But they’re better off without me.”
Now I’m thinking about young Harper standing by her mother’s grave.
“That’s not true,” I tell him. “What about your wife? Does she still love you?”
Duncan nods. “I think so. She just couldn’t deal with all the drinking. Like I said, shit went south after I lost my business. Then my dad died suddenly.”
“Stop making excuses!” I snap, lifting the gun again. “Life sucks and then we die. Everyone has shit to deal with. That doesn’t give you permission to force yourself on young women. So what happens next time your life turns to shit? You going to do this again?”
Please say yes so I can justify ending you.
“No,” he says, staring up into my eyes. “If I could go back in time, I would never even think about doing anything like that. And I never will again.”
Fuck.
He’s telling the truth.
Maybe you are a scorpion.
But you don’t have to use your sting.
We always have choices.
The gun shakes in my hand as I glance at the photograph on his mantelpiece.
I then open the barrel and drop a bullet into my open palm.
“W-what’s happening?” Duncan gasps as I drop to my knees in front of him.
“You just got fucking lucky,” I tell him. “But here’s the deal. You have a year to get your life back on track.”
“W-what?” he stutters.
Locking my eyes on his, I speak slowly. “Exactly one year from today, I’m going to come back to this house. And if it doesn’t contain two happy kids and one contented wife…” I lift the bullet and tap the point between his eyes. “It’s game over. No second chances.”
As tears fall from Duncan’s eyes, I stand up and straighten my suit jacket.
“Thank you,” he says.
“Not me you should be thanking.”
With images of Harper permanently ingrained in my mind, I walk over to the photograph.
It’s probably ten years old, but the four of them look so happy.
And then my eyes lower to the dog sitting between Duncan’s legs.
Holy shit. He’s the spitting image of Harper’s pet Labrador.
“Unless you love me like I loved Bouncer?” I recall Harper asking me and my jaw tenses.
“What the fuck is happening to me?” I hiss as Gary walks back into the lounge. “What’s wrong?”
“We have a big problem, Boss,” he says, glancing at Duncan in confusion.
I turn back to the golden Labrador.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “I think we do…”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Harper
Inside the bustling art gallery, I’m wearing the same red sequin dress I wore to the alumni gala, and my heart gallops as I nervously pull back the drape that covers my exhibit.
Maria doesn’t say a word, and I can’t look at her. I’ve spent the last week painting it, but I’ve never done portraits before, so I have no idea if anyone will be interested in buying it.
“Why are there so many people here?” I say, downing a glass of champagne. “Hello? Say something. And be honest.”
One hand stuffed into a massive bag of cheesy Doritos, my best friend whacks my arm so hard it hurts.
“Has Chris seen this?” Maria asks me, staring up at my painting.
Thinking back to our conversation at breakfast, I grab another glass of champagne and take a gulp.
“No. He compared me to my pet dog,” I mumble.
“Harper!” she squeals, dropping her bag of chips. “You’re like Michel-fucking-Angelo!”
Summoning all the courage I have left, I squint at the painting, and I’m relieved that it looks better under the lights than I thought it would.
“How old is he there?” my best friend asks, Doritos crunching under her feet as she steps on the packet.
It must be good,my inner critic dares to think. I’ve never seen Maria waste food before.
“Dunno,” I reply, staring at the young Chris Collins I’ve painted. “The image just sort of came to me. Happens all the time.”
Dressed in a deep blue suit contrasting with the midnight sky, his soaking wet profile glares up at the full moon. The visible half of his face is ridden with anguish, and tears mix with the rain rolling down his cheek.
“Is he wearingoneshoe?” Maria asks, her nose pressed to the bottom of the painting.
“Yeah. That’s what I saw, so that’s what I painted.”
“Maybe we should upgrade his nickname,” she says, stepping backward. “Looks like the full moon’s about to turn the silverfox into awerewolf.”
Great.
Now I’m thinking about the wispy hair nestled between his marble pecs.
“More like Jekyll and Hyde,” I mumble. “He probably lost his shoe after he drank a potion and murdered someone.”
“Hekills people?” she gasps.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.