Page 98 of Little Liar
“Grab her,” I hear someone say in a Russian accent. “Kill the rest.”
“Run!” I yell at Olivia.
A gunshot goes off, and I see my dad go down.
It’s the only warning I get before I grab Molly and run with her. They’ll shoot her, and I refuse to let anyone hurt this hyperactive teenage kid. She’s crying as I pull her into the washroom, pulling the washer out the way to open the small hatch and pushing her in.
Stay here, I sign, but the lost look on her face tells me she hasn’t a clue what I’ve said. “Stay,” I force out, and she nods.
But when I turn round, someone grabs me by the throat and a fist jabs into my side. It burns, and the gasp I let out has me glancing down to see a blade plunged into my side.
Gritting my teeth through the inferno ripping through me where the metal is lodged, I grab the asshole by the shoulders and drive my head into his nose, breaking it instantly. He lets out a painful groan, silenced by my head driving into his again, knocking him to the ground.
I hold my side, the warm liquid seeping through my clothes, and yank out the blade, hunching over at the pain. Fuck. It’s like I’ve been punched with fire and it’s lashing all around me,my breaths coming out as pants. I screw my eyes shut, grip the handle of the blade, and slice it across the guy’s throat.
Leaving him there to bleed to death, I drag the washer back in front of the hatch to keep Molly hidden, then go into the front room to find Olivia.
I freeze when I see her and Dad on their knees with guns pointed at their heads. Dad has blood coming from his leg, his nose bleeding, but Olivia is untouched. No one has hurt her.
Molly is safe. No one will find her where she is. At least I managed to keep one of my sisters safe.
Igor Reznikov chuckles, pulling a toothpick from his mouth and tossing it. “Kill him.”
The first thing I hear is Olivia’s screams—then the sound of a gunshot right in front of me. There’s a second smack of pain to my chest that knocks me right back. My ears ring instantly, yet I can hear Olivia screaming louder, even though it’s like she’s growing further away.
I try to sit up, to get to Olivia, but I fall back down.
“Leave them. We got what we came for.”
“You motherfucker!”
A second gunshot goes off, but I’m unable to move as I stare at the ceiling. It’s morphing into different shapes, like a kaleidoscope.
Get up. I need to get up.
My dad is grabbing at my face, his palm pressing to my chest—it burns, as if I’ve been punched with a fiery fist.
“No, no, no. Please, son. Please open your eyes. Malachi!”
Someone’s begging for me to stay—then another, softer voice is there. Younger. It’s not Molly. It’s a memory.
Behind my gaze, flashing in and out of images, I see Olivia grinning at me and holding up seven fingers in her princess dress.
The image distorts, and I’m being pushed on a swing.
“Will we go for some ice cream?”I hear as the world darkens around me.
“You’re such a good kid, Malachi,”the darkness says, echoing and falling into the distance as my mind goes silent.
27
Olivia
The wallpaper is curling at the corner. My fingertips glide over it, tearing it a little as I continue walking the length of the bedroom I’ve been trapped in for the last three weeks.
Round and round I go. Over and over again. Like a toy race car on one of those tracks kids get at Christmas—as basic as they come. That’s me. One foot in front of the other, as my fingers guide me where I need to go. My eyes are closed. I won’t walk into anything—there’s only a bed in here, and the small bathroom with no window for me to escape through.
One step. Two steps. Three steps. Four.
