Page 122 of Dead Love
I looked up at that rectangle of light. Andrew peered down, then disappeared. My heart pounded, my blood pulsing everywhere. I still had my gun, but so did Andrew. I needed to time everything right.
He returned, the ice pick in his palm.
“Maybe you won’t go down as the Echo Killer, but another victim,” he said. “You’re right; I should take credit. If it means taking your life.”
He jumped into the burial plot. I left myself open. And when he swung the pick at me, I blocked it with my hand, the pick’s pointed blade puncturing my palm, nailing me against the dirt. A grin stretched across his face as he pulled the pick out and I howled into the air. But when he came closer, raising the pick above his head, aimed at my heart, I grabbed my gun, shooting him twice in the chest. He was stunned for a second, his eyes dropping down. I kicked him back into the wall of dirt. He knocked my gun out of my hand, but I grabbed the ice pick from his loose hands and swung it down onto his chest with a piercing thump.
His eyes flickered with energy, then he fell back, gaping at the gray sky.
I wet my lips, staring down at him. My gun lay beneath him. With my brother, the regret was instant, the anger simultaneous. The rage was focused on myself for being impulsive, hating myself for what I had done. But this was different. My chest expanded like I was floating. Kora was free. She wouldn’t have to marry a man who would likely abuse her. I let out a breath. The sirens wailed in the distance.
“Didn’t think it would come to this,” another male voice said. I turned around quickly; Sheriff Mike came toward the open rectangle of light. “You know, I always liked you, Erickson. Even when the rest of the department thought for sure that you had murdered your brother, I backed you up.Now, now,I would tell them,Why would a good man like Erickson kill his own brother?The only motive you had was to keep the funeral home to yourself. But Justin was ready to give it to you, wasn’t he?” He removed his gun from the holster. “Now, that didn’t make sense. None of it did. But I suppose I should have arrested you back then. Maybe it would have saved Andrew.” He gritted his teeth. “He was like a son to me.”
I scowled. My gun was in my peripherals, beneath Andrew’s shoulder.
“You treated him better than your daughter,” I said.
“I never wanted a daughter. Never wanted a family. But I always wanted power. And this,” he grinned, pulling back the hammer, “This is worth it.” He raised the gun, straightening his aim at me. My body hardened. I needed to get that gun now. “Don’t worry,” he said in a low voice. “This town will be safer now. Especially Kora.”
I plunged forward, reaching for the gun. My whole body went numb. A shot went off and I swallowed a breath, but I didn’t feel anything. There was no blood anywhere. I looked up: the sheriff held his chest, then glanced at his hand. It was covered in blood. He turned around to see who it was, but by the time he did, his body fell forward, falling into the grave on top of Andrew with a hard thud. Someone had shot him, saving my life.
Kora stepped forward, her jaw clenched, the gun still aimed down at her father. The canvas bag’s strap slid down her shoulder. Once she was satisfied that he was dead, she dropped the gun to the ground, then fell to her knees.
Her green eyes looked down, waiting for me.
CHAPTER42
Kora
Chills ranup and down my spine as I gazed at the blood trailing down Vincent’s lips. His brow and cheek were swollen. His eyes held me.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
He was asking about me when he was the one who was hurt, the one who had been through who-knows-what with my father and Andrew? I didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to relive what I had just done.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
He nodded. And with that simple movement, a heaviness sunk through me. I wanted to lie down and stare up at the sky, but we couldn’t let go. There were two dead bodies to take care of. We couldn’t waste any time.
“The ladder,” I said. I ran through the graves, my skin tingling, and when I found it, I lowered it into the plot. He climbed out, leaving the two bodies in the hole.
He put a hand on my cheek. His hand was grimy, caked with sweat and dirt. Chemicals and body odor wafted from his skin, his lips bloodied and cracked. His dark eyes found mine, black with the white clouds of smoke reflected in them.
“Are you okay?” he asked again. Tears filled my eyes. I shook my head, and he pulled me closer, a firm grip around me. Once I felt his touch, once I felt safe and seen, everything inside of me poured out, the tears falling through me.
But Vincent was okay. He was okay, and my mother was okay, and my mother hadn’t ratted him out. But Andrew was gone, and my father—
My father was gone too. I had killed him.
“He told Andrew to kill Nyla,” I whispered through the sobs.
Vincent didn’t say a word, just held me close, running his fingers through my knotted hair. I couldn’t stop them from killing Nyla, but I had stopped my father from killing Vincent. My mouth was dry, my stomach weak, and I hated,hatedthat I felt better now, knowing that they were both gone. Two men I had known all of my life, men who had sworn to protect me. I hated that I felt safer with Vincent than I ever had with my family.
But I had the power to accept what was real. And I let myself feel every screwed-up emotion that was left inside of me, everything pouring out in tears, in rage, stomping my feet, screaming into Vincent’s chest, sobbing until the nausea and every last tear were gone. Vincent held me, never once offering unsolicited advice. He knew this was all I needed: acceptance.
Finally, I turned to him. “What do we do?”
“Not sure,” he said. “What do you want to do?”
