Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
“Well what?”
“What now?”
I can feel my eyes squint as I shake my head a tiny bit and say, “Fuck if I know.”
“Danny,” she starts, “you were in business with this man for how many years?”
“I dunno. A few.”
“Enough to know him, though.”
“I guess. Maybe. Not really. Cocksucker was trafficking fucking women for God knows how long and I had no idea. I suppose nobody really knows anybody, do they?”
Ain’t that the goddamn truth.
She stares at me for a moment, then says, “Give me a knife.”
“What?”
“Please stop making me repeat myself and give me a knife.”
“I’m not holding one.”
The muscles beside her temples twitch. She turns to the rest of the group. “Will someone in this room, please, GIVE ME A GODDAMN KNIFE!”
Brenden (or Charlie—honestly, I get confused which is which—I know Christine may have fucked Charlie at some point, but sometimes there are things in life you gotta choose not to care about, and this is one of those) reaches into a satchel he has sitting nearby and pulls out a six-inch bushcraft knife. It’s not the biggest or heaviest knife I’ve ever seen, but as Eliza takes it in her hand, the glint of light off the sharp carbon blade matching the glint of barely contained fury in her eyes, it doesn’t need to be. Whatever job she intends for it, it’ll be enough.
She walks back to the first kid, the one who called her a cunt, and without ceremony, she jams the blade right into the gunshot wound in his knee. It’s a banshee wail that he lets out. No other way to describe it.
Then she grabs her phone from her jacket pocket with her other hand and shoves it in the face of the second boy. “Do you know your cousin’s phone number?”
“Feckin’ stop!” the first boy screams.
“Your brother is in a lot of pain, boy. Do you know your cousin’s phone number?”
The wailing from the kid with the knife in his knee is starting to get hard to listen to. Even for me. Even for Christine. Even for Alec. I can tell because he tries to step forward once again. “Eliza—”
“Stop! You were supposed to find out where this fucker is. Where my daughter is. You were supposed to gather information. You were supposed to bring back news about my child. But you didn’t. All you did was bring back trouble, misery, and these two.” She gestures at the wounded boys. “Because bringing trouble and misery is what you’re best at, isn’t it? So, since you seem to be incapable of handling the most basic of tasks, I’m handling it now. And I will end you in a fucking heartbeat if you get in my way! Take one more step, Alec van den Berg! I swear to fucking Christ!”
I’ve seen my share of fear, anger, and hysteria. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen all three existing at the same time at as high a level as what Eliza’s throwing out right now.
Alec stops and stares at her. Their eyes lock. His jaw tightens. She may be the mother of his child and they may have history and all that, but it’s still rare that people talk to Alec this way. Especially in front of other people.
For a moment, I’m not sure what’s going to happen here. It’s still not altogether clear who’s on whose side in this insane group of murderers and thieves we’ve got assembled. Who can trust who and who might just shoot somebody in the face. In some ways, it’s the hardest part about the lives we’ve chosen (or that were chosen for us): You have to constantly have your head on a swivel.
It’s why so many people who do what we do wind up living their lives alone.
Which is, I’m starting to think, a good enough reason to consider some other life choices. But we have to get through this fucking debacle we find ourselves in first. And then, maybe…
Best not to keep thinking about it. At least not just yet.
After a very tense and very filled beat… Alec closes his eyes, bows his head, and steps back away from Eliza. I know we all feel like Alec does: That if we want to get information and put this thing away with the least amount of blowback, it’s in all of our interests to leave as few bodies as we can in our wake.
It’s either that or kill fucking everybody. Which is what Eliza seems interested in at the moment. She’s like those polar bears Alec, Christine and I saw that time, the mama bear who isn’t afraid to get as bloody as she has to to get her cub back. And she’s willing to get everybody else bloody in the process, if necessary.
Eliza takes a panting breath and turns her head back to the boys, readying to drive the knife deeper into the one boy’s leg, when he shouts, “I’ve got it! Brasil’s number is in my phone!”