Page 51 of Prey

Ronan, Betty, and Freddies understood this; Gunner, on the other hand, did not or chose to rebel. If his father was still alive, I'm sure he’d have a few choice words to say.

“Take a seat,” I beckoned him, and he pulled up the chair on the other side of the desk.

“Has something happened?” he asked, looking concerned.

“No. How’s school?” I started by asking him to relax.

“I don’t know. It’s all right.” Giving nothing away. I knew he didn’t like college, but his mom wanted him to be introduced to a life outside our way of doing things, so he had no choice.

“Got a girlfriend?” I pressed, again, small talk, even though I knew he was consumed by the girl he suspected was Annika, even though Ronan was convinced she probably wasn’t.

He shrugged. “Is that why you wanted to talk to me?”

“When was the last time you spoke to your mom?” I persisted, moving closer to the crux of the issue and the real reason I asked him to come in.

He groaned and made a face, then folded his arms.

“That’s a no?” I asked, sliding an open box of chocolates to him – a birthday gift to me from Freddie. I shared the cupcake from Betty with Ronan, so Gunner was welcome to demolish the rest of these chocolates.

“She…you know,” he took a chocolate-covered almond and chucked it into his mouth, “always reminds me of Larsson, and Larsson reminds me of what happened to Dad, so-”

“You’ve got to grow up and face your demons sometime, Gunner,” I interrupted. Holding so much anger and resentment couldn't be healthy, but it explained why he was anti-social and wore his grievances on his skin. I held the same eagerness for revenge, but it wasn’t my father who was murdered right under my nose.

His eyebrows cocked as a mischievous smirk slid across his face. “Wait. Are you calling my mom a demon?”

I chuckled, “I wouldn’t dare.” I reached across the table to grab a chocolate, annoyed that my tastebuds for fine food and alcohol had been ruined by what we were served in prison.

“I know Ronan updates her frequently,” Gunner added.

“Yeah, I know. Worth his weight in gold,” I exclaimed, relaxing in the chair. “Seriously, I wouldn’t know where I’d be without him, but he’s not blood-related, and it’s not his job to appease Sylvie and keep her happy because her son refused to talk to her.”

My nephew flinched, and his eyes dropped to the floor. He looked ashamed and fidgeted in his seat, eager to fly out the door. Even if he tried, I’d refused to let him leave until I was done.

“So, are you going to call her?” I pressed.

“Fine,” he answered, unenthused, pent up, and angry, probably trying to devise every excuse imaginable as to why he couldn’t call her.

“Great. Get her off our backs,” I stated lightheartedly, then leaned forward, placing my elbows on the desk to ask him a direct question. “Did Sylvie, your mom, go out that night?”

The frown vanished from his sullen face. “What night? The night Dad died?”

“Yes,” I urged him to take another chocolate. “Danny Lam, the PI I hired, spoke to Sylvie, and she said that she went out for an hour to collect groceries. Do you remember that?”

He hesitated and picked a spot on the desk to stare at, and I could almost see his brain churning over the memories of that night. “She was definitely at home when the shots were fired,” he stated, but the confusion on his face was in contrast to the words he spoke.

“How do you know?” I persisted, watching him closely as he struggled with the images flashing in his mind. He was sixteen when this happened, only a kid, and his father was his fucking world.

“Because I remember her screaming, ‘He’s been shot. Someone shot Lars.’” He waivered a few beats to gather more thoughts.“Then I ran down the stairs to find the front door wide open, and mom was on her knees over my father…bleeding…so much blood.”

“Where was Annika?” I almost faltered as I said her name for how much harm she caused to the only people on earth I’d burn a fucking city down for.

“She was there. Upstairs. I think,” he cringed, finding it hard, or maybe he was second-guessing himself. It was too damn easy to question what you saw when the event occurred three years ago.

“You think?” I pressured him, and he was looking uncomfortable.

“I ran out the front door to help mom, but she screamed at me to call the police. When I turned around, Annika was there behind me, looking terrified. I remember the look on her face like it was yesterday. It was genuine fear, Mikky. Like she didn’t see that coming.”

My finger tapped on the desk irritably, and once I realized I was doing that unconsciously, I stopped and laced my fingers together. “Maybe she was unaware of your father’s murder, but someone coached her into lying to the police and in the courts. Was it possible for her to be a witness?”

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