Page 33 of Hell Hath No Fury

I stare down at him for a moment, wishing I could just kill him and leave him to rot, but knowing he’s our only possible link to who’s behind all the madness we’ve been dealing with for the past few years.

I rush to the closet, smiling gleefully at the fancy extra-large trunk that hadn’t been put into storage yet. There’s not a chance in hell I can carry him out of the room and down the stairs to the garage, so this is my best chance.

Wheeling it out into the bedroom, I flip it onto its side, flipping it open, and then I use all the leverage I can muster to laboriously lift him over the edge, folding him up into a human pretzel until he’s squished inside. I wedge some shirts around his wounds in the hope he won’t die die. Laughing again, I close the lid on him, securing the latches and straps, hefting it back onto the wheels, and heading toward the doorway.

A commotion down the hallway draws my attention, so I rush back to his bedside table, open the drawer, and pull out the spare gun, silencer, and magazines stored there. I know I’m on borrowed time, that more people will be coming from the smaller residence he keeps a few miles away, so it’s now or never.

Preparing the weapon, I hurry back to the doorway, pressing my back against the wall just as the rushing footfalls slow, then inch forward. The toe of a shiny black shoe appears first, and I roll my eyes, annoyed by how long this is taking. I reach out, grasping onto his shirt and yanking him into the room, a bullet entering the back of his head before his body hits the floor.

Shouting ensues, and I wait just inside the door for another man to appear, this time grabbing onto him and shoving him back into the hallway as I take up behind him. He shouts for his people not to shoot, but no one is listening, and soon, I’m stuck trying to hold him up while keeping my aim true.

I drag more bodies out of the way, tossing a couple over the railing to the floor in the main entryway and another directly down the staircase. Then, thankful for how easily the fancy trunk wheels down the carpeted hallway, I sneak toward the back service elevator.

The place is eerily quiet, but I don’t waste any time worrying about that, instead hurrying for an exit.

By the time I roll the trunk into the garage, I’m sweating. The initial buzz of adrenaline wears off as I open the back door to the car, eyeing the space and then the size of the trunk. I finally manage to wedge the trunk into the back after moving the front seat forward as far as it would go.

Then, I fall into the driver’s seat, starting the engine as the garage door rises. I buckle my seatbelt and then slowly exit the garage and drive away.

16

The Faulty Mind

Darius

OnceAntoinettefinishesherstory, we all sit there watching her.

She was straightforward in her telling, relaying the conversation and action without emotion, only stating the necessary information to get the point across.

I can’t see her face, but I don’t have to see her expression to know what’s there, hiding behind her neutral effect. Anger. Sadness

We’ve all witnessed many atrocities over our lifetime. Most of which were brutal and vicious. But I know enough about the human condition to acknowledge there are deeper hurts than the physical.

To have your emotions played with and your mind betray you. That is an entirely different beast.

I also know what I’m feeling and that it has no place here with her. So, I push my anger, sadness, and outrage down into that dark abyss to use as fuel later—revenge. Retribution.

I look to Lilith, catching her eye, and quickly glancing down at Antoinette. Lilith frowns and then nods, so I scoot forward in my chair, moving my feet forward, so she’s bracketed by the splay of my legs. I slide one arm across her front so my hand is gripping her opposite shoulder, and then my other hand moves to her head, my palm pressed against her forehead, pulling her back into me. She comes willingly, allowing me to support her, and I pull her head back so she’s staring up at me as I say, “This wasn’t your fault. This isn’t your fault.”

At first, she blinks up at me, but then she shakes her head, and my grip on her forehead tightens, stopping the movement. Leaning in even closer, I twist so I’m looking into her eyes as I continue, “I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling right now. The deep level of anger, sadness, and the sharp, gut-wrenching pain of betrayal. But it’s not your fault.”

She doesn’t attempt to break free of my grasp this time, but she does glare up at me, and the fire in her eyes makes me feel marginally better. “You’re right. You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know how it feels to be betrayed by your own fucking body. By your own fucking brain. To have some fucking asshole fill your head full of nonsense, but there are so many holes in your memory that they just slot themselves in there like old friends. That’s the worst fucking part. Not being able to trust what’s real anymore—knowing that at the first sign of trauma, my brain just gives up. I just hand myself over to whoever may be standing there at the time with a handful of warm fucking memories. I am my biggest betrayal.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Antonio shift forward where he’s seated beside Lilith, but she places her hand on his leg. He glances at her, and she shakes her head, likely knowing that whatever exchange is going to go on between us needs to happen.

We’re staring at each other intently, both of us obviously waiting for the other one to speak, and then after a long moment, I respond, “The mind will do whatever it needs to do to protect itself.”

“What if I don’t want to be protected?”

I smile down at her, laughing softly. “Sometimes our brain misses the memo in what we want. Whether we like it or not, if it decides to go on standby while it works to fix itself, that’s just how it is.”

Her hands move to my forearm, still across her chest, and she turns her body more toward me as she whispers, “Then I have to remember all that other stuff as if all those good feelings were real. It makes me want to crawl out of my skin.”

“At the time, they were real. And that’s okay. As confusing and aggravating as it may be for you, sometimes you just have to let it be.”

“I don’t want to let it be. I want to reach in there with my fingers and scratch it from my memories. I want to reach down my own throat and scrape it from my guts and vomit it out so I don’t have to feel it anymore.”

“In time, you will,” I answer softly. “But you can’t force it. All you can do is remember that you’re alive, regardless of what that piece of shit had you believe over the last few months, you’re alive because of him.” She glares up at me, her fingertips digging into my arm, and when she goes to open her mouth, I shake my head and add, “I know, I know. Can he be thanked for one thing while being condemned for another? Seems it’s just another double-edged sword for us to fall on. You may think I’m a giant dickhead, but however it is that you came to be alive, I will always be grateful.”

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