“You can take me,” Leon says. “I’ll cooperate.” He juts his chin in my direction. “Let her go.”
“Shut up,” Elliot yells, shaking me like I’m nothing but a ragdoll. “I’m the one with the gun. You don’t get to make demands. If you need motivation to obey, I can give you some, starting with a body part I’ll carve off your wife. How about an ear? Or maybe I’ll begin with her nose.”
Violence glitters in Leon’s eyes, but he replies in a placating tone. “That won’t be necessary.” Lowering himself into the nearest chair, he continues, “I’ll do what you want.”
If not for me, Leon would’ve taken Elliot out already. Elliot knows Leon’s weakness. He knew even before I did. I’ve just been too blind to notice.
“Get to fucking work, Gia.” Elliot’s spittle lands on my cheek. “I won’t tell you again. And if you do a shit job, I’ll cut off your daughter’s fingers one by one until those cables are so tight it cuts off his blood flow.”
My mom shakes so badly she doesn’t get a grip on the cord.
“It’s okay,” Leon says to my mom, placing his elbows on the armrests of the chair. “You’ve got this, Gia.”
Sniffing through her tears, my mom squares her shoulders. She uses one cable to tie Leon’s wrists to the armrests, wrapping the long cord first around one and then around the other wrist, before doing the same with his ankles.
Once he’s secured, she straightens, waiting for Elliot’s instruction with loathing burning in her gaze.
“Good,” Elliot says, aiming the gun at Leon’s chest. “Now you’re going to die knowing I’m going to kill these bitches slowly.”
It’s the moment I’ve been waiting for. The second he moves the gun away from my head, I elbow him in the stomach with all the strength I possess. The blow is hard enough to knock out his wind. The force of it makes him fold double. Before he has time to recover, I interlace my fingers and slam the sides of my palms on his elbow. His arm collapses, the gun hanging at his side, but he doesn’t drop the weapon like I hoped.
I always won our physical fights as children. Despite the fixator that limited my movements, I got the last punch in every time. The knowledge gives me power. Swinging my fist, I punch him in the hollow in the center of his ribs. He grunts, but he still doesn’t ease his grip on the gun.
Somewhere in the background, Leon calls my name. The sound comes to me like a distant echo through the blood that gushes in my ears. I block out his voice. If I listen to him, I’ll lose my focus. If I think about the bullet in his body, my fear will make me weak.
Using the heel of my sneaker, I kick the gun from Elliot’s hand. It falls on the floor and glides a short distance away. I dive for the weapon, but a sharp pain that tears into my scalp stops my momentum. Elliot has grabbed hold of my hair, using the long strands to reel me in. I fight like an animal, swinging my elbows and kicking my feet. My wild wrestling puts him on the defense. He protects his stomach and ribs with one arm while fisting his hand so tightly in my hair my eyes water.
“No,” my mother shouts, grabbing a marble ashtray from the coffee table.
Rushing over the floor, she smacks Elliot with the ashtray on the head. He utters a curse and backhands her hard enough to make her take a few steps to the side, the ashtray falling from her hand. My mom shakes her head like someone who’s disoriented.
Doubling his efforts, Elliot manages to grab my throat in his free hand. When he squeezes, I cease to breathe.
Leon strains in his bonds. “Violet!”
From the corner of my eye, I see my mom jumping on Elliot. She fights like a hellcat, trying to pull him off me. Her outraged cries echo in the room as she locks her ankles around his waist, kicking me in the process. He stumbles back, almost losing his balance. When he flails his arms to regain his footing, I twist out of his hold.
For a moment, all I can do is drag air into my lungs. The sudden rush of oxygen makes me lightheaded. I blink to focus my eyes. My mom has her arms wrapped around Elliot’s neck, strangling him. Before I can act, he smashes his elbows into her ribs. Her grip slackens. The next blow sends her flying backward. Her body hits the wall, her head bouncing off the bricks before she slumps into a heap on the floor.
“Mom!”
Ugly violence boils up inside me. Survival instinct and rage fuel my body. My lungs still burn as I sprint across the floor. My limp counts against me, my legs betraying me as my hip gives out and I go down. I catch myself on my hands and knees. Pain shoots into my wrists and kneecaps. My heart pumps so furiously it hurts. I crawl over the floor on all fours, looking over my shoulder through a veil of hair to assess the danger.
Elliot’s feet are planted wide, and his arms are standing away from his body. He fixes his gaze on the gun that lies within my reach.
A slow grin stretches his lips. “What are you going to do, sis?” His tone is mocking. “Puke out your guts?”
A need to save the people I love makes me more animal than human. I tune out Leon’s voice that’s saying my name, telling me not to do it.
Picking up the gun, I round on Elliot in my kneeling position and point the barrel at him.
My stepbrother’s eyes flare. His face pales. With my phobia of guns, he didn’t think I’d touch the weapon.
“No,” I say, my voice surprisingly calm. “I’m not going to puke.” My aim is steady as I support my right arm with my left hand, just like Leon taught me. “I’m going to shoot you.”
Surprise registers on Elliot’s face. It’s the last expression I see in his features before I pull the trigger. Thanks to weeks of target practice, my aim has gotten better. The bullet hits him right in the heart. I don’t wait to see the life drain from his eyes. I don’t care enough.
I drop the gun and crawl to my mom. Placing two fingers on her neck, I feel for her pulse. It’s strong. She may have a concussion, but my biggest concern is Leon. He’s gone quiet. Too quiet.
My legs wobble when I push to my feet. It’s as if I’ve used up all my strength. The colors around me are washed out and bleak, especially those of the bodies that litter the floor. I don’t look at the blood or the destruction in which I played my part. I steady myself with a hand on the bar, trying to remember where I put my phone.