Page 50 of Tainted Love

Marty releases me. My numb body strikes the floor and I cradle my head in my hands, unable to lift it or feel any strength at all.

My father is gone. My father is dead. My father—

“Lucy…” The voice rumbles my insides. “I’m going to ask you one… more… time.”

“I don’t know…” I whisper with a weak voice.

“Where is Dante Hart?”

“I don’t know.”

“Lucy.”

“I don’t know!”

Marty sighs and lowers down to kneel beside me. “That’s rather disappointing.” He reaches out and snatches my chin, forcing me to look up at his wounded face. “Because he did this to me and I would very much like to return the favor.”

“I swear…” I sob. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Your loyalty is admirable. It truly is.”

He stands and wanders over to the edge of the stage, gesturing a hand at two of his men. They move in the corners of my vision, rushing down the aisles with large, red canisters. He reaches down and one of them hands him a crowbar.

“Unfortunately, that loyalty won’t get you very far, Lucy.”

I slink away from him, but he bridges the gap between us with a few, quick strides. He kicks me in the ribs. I roll onto my back, too weak to fight him. A strong smell wafts under my nose. I shut down even more, sickened by the distinct scent of gasoline.

“You know he said something this morning…” Marty says, rubbing the metal between his palms. “Something that I think perfectly reflects your current predicament. He said, ‘There’s a reason why busting kneecaps never goes out of style.’ I’d like to test that theory, Lucy.”

I shy away from his grin. “Please, don’t…”

“I thought my old man was wrong, but… I think I’ve had a change of heart.”

“No…” I push back but he stays on me, lingering over me like a dark cloud. “Please—”

Marty raises the crowbar over his head, his face contorting into a demon’s scowl, and slams it downward.

He strikes my right knee. Blinding pain reverberates my leg, crashing through me like a bolt of lightning. I scream, tearing my throat in half while Marty raises it once more. His laughter splits the air and he brings it down, hitting me again with little restraint.

I cry even louder, praying for the pain to end but it lingers inside of me. My eyelids become heavy. My muscles tense up, preparing for a third whack. Senses start to fade. I think that maybe I will pass out and this agony will let me go — even if only for a few seconds.

Marty tosses the crowbar across the stage. The clattering sound blends with his feet in my ears as he walks over to kneel beside me again.

“Well…” he mutters, his voice echoing in my head, “he wasn’t wrong after all.”

I weep on the floor, cowering away from him. He runs a finger down my cheek, but I can’t feel it. I can’t feel anything except the pain throbbing throughout my leg.

“It’s a shame, really. I’m sure you were quite talented.” He stands and turns away from me. “Oh, well.”

I watch him go and he stomps down the center aisle.

“Kill the rest of them.” His gaze wanders back to me and he smirks. “Let her burn.”

I divert my eyes as two men walk across the stage and a storm of gunfire takes over my ears. There’s screaming for several moments until finally… there’s nothing left of them but silence.

The men bolt off the stage as Marty reaches into his pocket. I look down at my swollen knee. It pushes hard against my ripped, blood-stained tights. I try to make out the damage, but my vision refuses to let me focus.

My father’s limp body lies several feet away. His blood continues to roll toward me, inching closer like a snake in the grass.

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