Page 28 of Last Breath

“You think you’re tough now?” Laughing, the evil Tress I remember is mere inches from Salem. With his back pressed tight to the wall, his evil father crowding him in, I see how this will go.

“Sal!” I call out, stepping up the drive.

“Oh, this is perfect.” Tress gleefully turns from Salem, facing me. “You know, there was a reward for information on your disappearance. Your parents searched for years.” He smacks his hands together. “I can’t wait to collect on that shit.”

Without thought, I aim and shoot at his foot. “You won’t be collecting from anyone.” Holding the gun toward his head, I don’t look away. I don’t trust Tress in the least. Speaking to Salem, I ask, “Are you okay?”

“You should have stayed in the car, Mal. I’ve got this.”

“You have this? What’sthis, Salem?” Laughing again, the dark sound of Tress’s tone creeps up my spine.

Removing one of his blades, Salem slips it against Tress’s shoulder. As blood slowly trickles down his shirt, he yells.

“Jesus Fucking Christ!” Turning, swinging around wildly, Tress attempts to punch Sal.

Slipping the blade cleanly against Tress’s chest, Salem smiles as it sings and slices easily against skin and clothing.

“Fucking little asshole!” Tress shouts, clutching at his newest scar. He has no idea it’s only one in a long line of them, but that’s the beauty in this.

I love the look on Salem’s face. A sneaky smile crests his features. He was toying with Tress all along.

“Told you I had it.” He lifts the thin blade to Tress’s neck. “Now, how about we have a seat inside…Dad.”

Craning his neck back, hoping to keep the cool steel off his skin, Tress looks slightly worried. He finally looks weak.

Turning sideways, stepping through the doorway, Salem leads Tress within the dark interior. I still don’t trust the scumbag, and as he’s moving, I’m keeping my gun trained on his chest.

“Sit,” Salem snaps, still poised behind Tress. “Mal, do me a favor and shoot this piece of shit if he moves while I’m tying him up.” I watch as he takes a seat on a rickety wooden kitchen chair.

“Please give me a reason, Tress. Just breathe wrong and let me give you a new hole.” Keeping a watchful eye on Tress, the gun in my hand is ready to put a bullet through his skull if he so much as tries to sneeze.

“Salem, Malachi…what’s going on?”

Not taking my eyes off him, I reply, “Joy, you might want to wait outside. This isn’t for you.”

“Malachi—”

“No, this isn’t for you. Go out to the car—”

While tying Tress to the chair, Salem interjects. “She can stay if she wishes, Mal. We won’t hide anything from her.”

Satisfied that the rope is tied tightly, Salem rises from behind his father. I click the safety on the gun and stuff it down the back of my jeans. “You sure, Salem? Her grandmother was one thing, and this will be messy.”

“Yeah. You can handle it, right, Joy?” Salem’s serious gaze as he turns toward her says it all. Looking her way, seeing her reaction to all of this, I’m surprised. She’s calm, relaxed and indifferent, and I wonder how much shecantake? How much she’s like us?

Laughing hard, pulling against the confines of the rope, Tress cackles. “You two shits think you’re going to hurt me? You’re fucking wrong, Malachi Rourke. My son doesn’t have the scrote to fucking hurt me.” He laughs hard. “He won’t do it because he knows once I’m free, I’m dragging his ass out to that tree. I’ll lash him so hard he won’teverforget the pain.”

Stepping to Tress with pure hatred in my heart, I punch him as hard as I can across the jaw. It rattles my fist, but the sight of his blood spilt satisfies every urge to see his death. Shaking out my hand, winding up and cuffing him a second time, I hear the bones in his nose crack.

“Oh, that felt fantastic!” I yell. Gladly, I’d do that a hundred times.

Laughing aloud, Salem grins. “Feeling better, Mal?”

“Fuck yes I do. That was perfection.”

“You should ice your hand,” Joy says sweetly. Waving her off, I relish the sting of fracturing the bones. Busting his face would be worth every broken finger.

Spitting on the floor, Tress makes gurgling noises as the blood spills down his throat. He composes himself and growls out, “Listen, you whelp. Those are the only shots you’ll get in. Try again and I’m going to enjoy making you pay. After all, if it weren’t for you dragging him away all those years ago, he wouldn’t be standing here. He would’ve been buried long ago with maggots in his eyes, just like his whore of a mother.”

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