Wrong Kind of Love

I spend the entire drive home fuming over this shitshow, and by the time I pull into the drive and cut the engine, I’m annoyed as hell. It has been five years since Tom killed my mother and sister at our house in the mountains. Two years since he’s sent a bouquet of magnolias to my father’s funeral. Marney and I spent years ripping through real estate records and tax files, years cashing in on debts owed to us by police departments and government officials. And no one knew where Tom had gone. Why now? Why the hell has Tom Campbell popped up now, and what does he have to gain by putting a girl like Victoria in my house? Is he hoping I’ll kill her, hoping I’ll fuck her or rape her? Shit. He could have bugged her or put a tracking device on her, and the last thing I want is Tom to know where I live. I’ve spent too many years keeping that information locked away to have it blown. Paranoia sets in as I climb the porch steps, and it only deepens when I step into the living room and find one of my lackeys, Bob, in the recliner with Tor, bound and gagged—again—at his feet. Pine straw is nested in her tangled hair. Dirt and grass on her face and jeans. And the frayed bit of patience I have left unravels.

Bob glances at me. “She used a lamp to clock your brother on the head and ran. Caught her out in the woods. And boy, does she have a mouth on her.”

The moment her gaze meets mine, it hardens like she’s whispering, “fuck you” in her head.

“I swear to God if I find out you’re anything besides an unlucky girl…” The prospect makes me so damn livid I can’t even look at her, let alone finish the sentence, so I turn my attention to Bob. “Where the hell is Caleb?”

“Outside sulking.”

If my weakness is women, Caleb’s is sympathy. He inherited that from our mother, so as much as I want to hate him for it, I can't. I wouldn’t put it past him to have handed her the lamp, then told her to smack him with it and run. I swipe a hand over my mouth, trying to sort through this whirlwind of shit in my head. She tried to escape. Wouldn’t anyone, though? Her trying to get the hell out of here doesn’t mean she’s working for Tom, but it doesn't mean she’s not. My gaze cuts back to her. Young. Beautiful. Innocent-as-hell looking. She would be the perfect Trojan horse.

Fuming, I yank her to her feet and drag her back to Caleb’s room, my insides twisting and turning at the idea of what I may have to do. I shove her inside, and our gazes lock, the steel blue of her eyes searing through me, reaching for the depths of a soul I no longer own. I want to tell her there is no bargaining with me, there is no finding sympathy—I gave those things up years ago, but the words won’t come out. The presence of the gun in the waist of my jeans is more obvious than usual because I know I may have to use it on her. I try to imagine pulling the trigger and putting a bullet in her head, and even in my imagination, the scenario won’t play out. The trigger locks. The chamber is empty. I don’t want to kill this girl, but sometimes we all must do things we don’t want to do. I try another approach, one where I place the gun beneath her chin and aim it at the base of her skull. That’s the quickest, kindest way to do it...but the rapid beat of my heart has my chest so tight I can’t force my hand to move for my weapon. What if she’s innocent?

A lump rises in my throat. It’s not the idea of murder that bothers me. I’ve killed men before, and I’ll kill them again. It’s the thought of taking her life that has a hopelessness winding through me like a snake. I pace the room and then throw my fist through the sheetrock before locking her behind the door. I can’t pull the trigger yet.

I jog down the steps and flip on the porch light before I go through the front door. Caleb is on the bottom porch step with a bag of ice to his head. “Did the boyfriend pay? Can we let her go?”

“No.” There never was a plan to pay, at least not where Tom is concerned. Swatting the gnats out of my face, I move down the dark steps. “Marney found out the girl’s boyfriend is Tom’s nephew.”

“Shit...” A blank expression falls over Caleb’s face, the gravity of the situation quickly setting in.