Page 76 of We Are the Match
I stop the motorcycle, gasping.
I can smell blood in the air as I dismount.
And then I see it as I walk toward the house: the first sign of life. North of the house, on a smooth white stone terrace, beside a fountain that gurgles gently.
Six of Marcus’s men—or my father’s men—and in front of them, three women. Even from this distance, I know what I see: a youngwoman in a maid’s uniform. And on either side of her, two of the women who have been Altea’s personal attendants for years.
Run,one of the men says.
I am close enough to hear the taunt.
I know this game.
The women do not move. They do not play the game.
They stand with jaws set, shoulders back, defiant and proud even when they are past hoping for survival. Even the young one, the maid.
They are Altea’s women, through and through.
The men raise their guns, and I am running toward them, running—
“No,” I shout, and I raise my hands, waving desperately to stop them.
The guns fire.
Three splashes of blood across white stone.
And they fall, beautiful and proud and fierce to the end, into the fountain, red blooming in the water below them.
The men with the guns turn to me, all six of them.
There are tears cutting my cheeks beneath the motorcycle helmet, and something beneath my rib cage cracks open.
“Run,” I shout as I shove my helmet off.
They raise their guns, confusion as clear on their faces as violence.
I draw my gun, and they hesitate, because they see me, they know who I am, they cannot fire upon me.
It is not a fair fight. It has never been a fair fight.
I am my father’s daughter.
And I kill every last one.
Chapter 27
Paris
A car waits for me outside of my apartment, but I slip out a back entrance and make my own way to Altea’s. Whether that car was sent by Helen or Zarek, I have no way of knowing—and this morning, I’m not sure I want to risk it. I get her text when I am already on my way to Altea’s:destruction at Altea’s. My father’s men. And Marcus.
When I arrive at Altea’s, that is exactly what I find.
She had time, she hadtime, I gave her time. And she let them all die for her anyway.
I walk past fallen guards and gates blown in. I marvel at the courage, and it makes me furious, too.
That the gods let us bleed for them, let us be fodder in their endless, endless struggles for power.
