Elect, стр. 30

My hands shook as I slowly peeled the bloody clothes off my body. My movements felt slow and awkward; my wrists hurt like hell after being bound. When my dirty clothes were off, I took a seat on the metal chair and slowly pulled the fresh-smelling hooded sweatshirt over my head. The jeans were another matter entirely. I winced as pain shot through my hands at having to pull the rough material over my exhausted and mangled body. What should have taken me seconds took at least ten minutes, but I hadn’t felt that clean in days.

Nixon pulled a granola bar out of his pocket and handed it to me. What the hell was up his sleeve? Either he was fattening me up before death or he really was a freaking saint. Damn him.

I basically swallowed the granola bar whole and waited for Nixon to grab his gun again. Instead he cuffed me back to the chair and walked toward the door.

“Is that it?” I called. “You’re just going to leave?”

His hand was on the doorknob. Without looking back he answered, “You were one of my best friends, Phoenix.”

“What’s your point?”

“Every friend deserves to die with a little dignity, wouldn’t you agree?” He turned, meeting my gaze.

“Not me.”

He smirked. “Well then, thank your lucky stars I’m not the one making calls on Judgment Day. Try to get some sleep. You’ve got a long week ahead of you.”

“I look forward to our bloody meeting tomorrow,” I called back.

Nixon’s face fell. With a nod he opened the door and left. Confused as hell, I could only sit and wonder why.

Chapter Thirty Nixon

I pulled up to the building and made it three steps before I heard the sound of footsteps lightly tapping against pavement. It took less than a few seconds for his men to grab me by the arms and drag me the rest of the way to the large wooden door.

“What do you want?” a man in a thick accent demanded.

“He’s here for me,” a crisp voice said from the doorway.

I looked up into Luca’s eyes. “That I am.”

“Do you have what we discussed?”

“Right here.” I pulled out the journal. “Let’s talk inside.”

He nodded and we walked into a small kitchen.

Luca poured me a large glass of wine. “You work faster than I expected.”

“I had help.” I sighed and pointed at the journal. “I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine.” It sounded like a taunt, when it was more like a plea.

“And what do I have to gain in this little exchange?”

I took a large gulp of wine. “You’ve been trying to cover it up for too long, Luca. At least admit that much.”

“It has become… trying.”

“She should know you’re her great uncle.”

“Trace does not need to know these things. It is best to keep them… private.”

“Like how you fell in love with her grandmother? Things like that?”

Luca slammed his fist onto the table. “That woman should have left well enough alone! To write about it in a diary is beyond my comprehension.”

“Wasn’t as if she could tell anyone.” I sighed. “But, you have the diary, you have something you need… and I still have a problem.”

“The killers? You haven’t found them?” Luca paced in front of me. “I thought that you were coming to celebrate! Finally, we can put the past behind us, yes?”

“Soon.” I drummed my fingertips on the countertop. “I have discovered some information about my parentage.”

“And?” Luca took a seat. “Why does this concern me?”

“Because my real father killed Trace’s parents.”

“I see. And who is he?”

I played with the stem of my wineglass. “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you. I need more proof than someone just telling me. I need to catch him.”

Luca nodded and took a tentative sip of his own wine. “You mean to catch the fly.”

“I mean to make such a damn good web that everyone within forty square miles will know he’s a rat, but it’s complicated.”

“Our business always is.”

“Right.”

Luca pulled out a cigar and sniffed it. “Let us speak plainly. What can I do for you, Nixon?”

My heart hammered in my chest as I looked into his eyes and said, “I need you to kill me.”

Chapter Thirty-one Chase

I watched him leave and did nothing. I wasn’t sure if I had a right to be pissed; after all, technically they were dating, right? Or were they? Even I was confused at this point and all I really wanted to do was drown myself in a bottle of something.

She was in his bedroom.

Sleeping.

And I knew I had to go get her and bring her into her own room. How could he be so careless? What if Luca would have come by? It was strange that Nixon would just leave her in the bedroom without telling anyone. What if they had eyes on the house? Or worse yet, what if they had someone on the inside watching the whole damn time? Shit.

I walked into the room and lifted Trace into my arms. I covered her as best I could and set her carefully onto her own bed, then lay down next to her.

Well. Nobody ever said life was fair and by the looks of it, I’d been dealt a pretty shitty blow.

Nixon had slept with her and then left.

Nixon didn’t do things like that. I did things like that. The feeling in the pit of my stomach didn’t dissipate.

Trace moaned next to me. She moaned his name, not mine, and the knife went deeper into my heart.

“Sleep, Trace. It’s okay, you’re safe.” I tucked the blanket around her body and sighed when she turned to me and wrapped her arms around my stomach, thinking I was him. And for the first time in my life, I wished I was.

I awoke to a loud banging on my door. The clock on the desk said seven a.m. Who the hell would be waking us up this early? And how did they get in? Tex knew not to pound on my door that early and Nixon—well, I guess he could be pissed.

Sighing, I swung my feet from the bed to the floor to stand when the door burst open.

“Dad?” I rubbed my eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?” Normally my dad was good about texting or calling before he stopped by, so as not get shot on the spot. We never took any chances—even with family. Which meant only one thing. Something was wrong. Maybe Nixon let him in? I shook my head to clear all the thoughts swarming around.

His eyes fell to Trace and then back to me. She was starting to wake up, but no way was I letting my dad see that she was barely wearing any clothes. I pushed her down and covered her further with the blanket. “Nixon?”

“No.” I swallowed the emotion in my throat. “It’s Chase.

“Dad, can’t you see I’m a little busy?” Irritated, I glared at him and then pointed back at Trace.

“This could not wait.” His eyes looked tired. Bags hung beneath his lashes and the lines around his mouth seemed more pronounced. He’d always been a good-looking man, but right now he just looked old.

“What is it?”

He kept looking at Trace. Why the hell was he looking at her? She was covered in blankets, for crying out loud! I sighed. “I don’t have all day.”

“It’s Nixon.”

I could feel air in the room tense around me. It was one of those moments where it literally felt like time stood still. I watched my dad flinch as I looked down at Trace and then back up into his eyes. Please God, I didn’t mean it. Please let him be okay. I finally found my voice and asked with a croak, “What about him?”

“He’s dead.”

Chapter Thirty-two Chase

“How we treat the dead says an awful lot about how we live. For the strong and able to serve the helpless dead…” I choked on the word “dead,” and my hands shook as I continued reading, “to honor the frail remains…” My eyes fell to Trace, her body was slumped against Tex, her eyes hollow, as if her soul had gone to the afterlife right along with Nixon. “… Reaches deep inside us to something basic to humanity—Paul Gregory Alms.”