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Anissa
I stare at the screen in confusion, my chest restricting.
I’ve second guessed myself so many times since Luther arrived that the reaction is a living, breathing thing behind my ribs. It’s all there is. All I know.
I’d expected a vicious bloodbath. The carnage over and done with before I could think to make a protest.
I didn’t anticipate my conscience having time to run havoc.
But it has.
It still does.
I stood here, leaned toward the screen showing the perfect view of the child in the living room, my hands gripping the counter, my throat closing over. Some of their conversation didn’t make it to my ears. Their voices were too low or my heartbeat pounded too loud.
But the tones were coated in civility.
Everything was calm.
A pla
I can’t tell truth from fiction. Fact from deviously deceptive lie.
Cole is such a skilled manipulator I’m unsure if he’s playing his father, or still continuing to play me. He’d barely reacted to the news of his half-brother. He took in Tobias’s introduction as if it were a weather report for a city he never pla
There was no emotion. Very little interest. At least from my view on the pixilated screen.
I can only tell myself he must have known about the boy’s existence prior. Tobias has to be what Cole referred to when he said there was more to Luther than the information in the FBI database.
Then he shared coffee with the man and talked shop. He sat there, enjoying a fucking beverage when he was meant to be claiming a life.
I remained riveted and horrified while they held an uncensored conversation in front of an i
Cole only added to my confusion when he crouched to shake the boy’s hand, then hung his head, claiming to be overwhelmed. Through the entire encounter, I wasn’t able to get a read on him. There was no rage or intent to punish for me to bank my hopes on.
He acted as if he was going to join his father’s business, not take it down. But was it an act?
The only words ringing true are those I should fear. The ones outlining me as a plaything.
A toy.
She’s going to take a long walk off a short pier.
Like hell I will.
I watch with building dread as Cole stands and Luther escorts the child toward the glass doors.
I wait for something to happen. And wait. And wait.
All Cole does is stiffen while the sheer curtains are pulled aside and his father and brother disappear outside.
It’s over.
There’s no bloodshed. No victory or horror.
Cole has no plan to kill his father. Maybe he never did. And with the child’s arrival, I’m not sure if I should be relieved or traumatized.
I don’t know what the hell any of this means, and the questions only multiply when Cole reaches behind his back and pulls the gun from his waistband.
I swear his hand trembles as he begins to pace, raising the gun to tap, tap, tap the side of the barrel against his temple in an agitated rhythm.
His movements become hostile. The mask of calm disappears, making way for an expression of pure fury. The lack of emotion I’ve witnessed for long minutes changes with the force of a tsunami.
He’s purging. Succumbing. Letting down his guard.
Then he stalks for the doors, slamming the glass panel aside and escaping out of view.
“Goddammit.” I reach for the keyboard and tap buttons to cycle through the camera angles. I need to get eyes on him, but there’s nothing. No more images of anyone.
Time stands still as I wait for gunfire to erupt.
The small room becomes a cell, keeping me from reality.
Pressure bears down on me. Pure panic builds.
What’s going to happen to that little boy?
I switch off the screens with a hard slam of my palm against the wall switch and enter the pin-code to open the panic room door. The barrier to the world glides open in the silence and I step forward, waiting in the entry, each second without sound acting as painful torture until a boat engine roars to life in the distance.
My mind runs wild with speculation.
Is Luther dead? Did I miss the sound of a kill shot?
The purr of the boat grows distant, the rumble lessening when the familiar thump of footsteps enters my ears. The slam of a cupboard follows. The smash of glass. Then more pounding footfalls.
I was told to remain in here until Cole came to get me, but that’s an impossibility. I can’t stand by a moment longer.
I tiptoe from the walk-in robe, through the bedroom, and slowly down the hall. Nobody is waiting for me as I peek my head around the wall to see into the living room. The glass doors remain open, the curtains billowing in the breeze.
My steps are cautious as I start toward the glass and slip outside onto the tiled pool area.
The boat is now a far-off grumble in the night. A rumbling purr. That’s all there is.
I can’t hear Cole or Luca.
Not the child or his monster of a father.
I increase my pace around the pool, but the snap of a twig makes me stop in my tracks. I swing around, fists clenched, poised, and ready to fight.
Luca steps out from the darkness beside the house, his face stony. “Get back inside.”
“What happened?”
“Get your ass back inside.”
I lower my hands and my voice. “Are they still here?”
“No. But you need to leave Cole alone.” He starts toward me, his posture threatening.
“No. I want answers.”
“And you’ll get them. Later. For now, you have to give him space.”
That’s not good enough. I don’t have the patience to wait any longer.
I’ve done everything they asked of me. I hid in that room. I witnessed what I was led to believe would be a victory for the greater good. And now I want to know if the bad guys won, whether that includes Cole or not.
“Where is he?”
“Leave him alone,” he barks. “You’re not going to get what you want from him.”
I disagree.
I’m sick of being a puppet. A toy.
I glance toward the trail leading to the pier, then back at Luca.
His expression tightens, letting me know what I need is down that path. All that remains here is irritation and impatience.
I can’t take it anymore—the games, the psychological warfare. I need to know what’s going on, consequences be damned.
I start for the path, Luca’s frustrated snarl haunting my escape. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
My determination increases with each step into shrouded darkness. The house lights don’t touch this part of the island. I’m well aware I’m walking toward a gun-toting criminal. But I don’t stop.
As the trees and shrubs clear, I see the pier with Cole sitting at the far end, the moonlight gleaming down on his dark suit.
I continue toward him, measuring my approach, slowing just a little. “Is this the short pier I’m going to take a long walk off?”
“Not now, Nissa.” His tone is brutal. Raw. “Go back to the house.”
He grabs a liquor bottle from between his thighs and takes a long pull. When he lowers the bottle, his shoulders slump along with it. He places the liquor back between his thighs and hangs his head, making short wisps of hair frame the side of his face.
This isn’t the fearless man I watched on the television screens.
This guy is something else.
Someone else.
“Yes, I failed, if that’s what you’re waiting to hear.” He takes another drink and follows it up with a rough swipe of his hand over his mouth.