Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
It’s beautiful to witness. He crumples like a napkin. His shoulders shake as he cries big, fat, ugly tears. His disgusting, snotty face stares at me in bewilderment. “It was an accident,” he wails.
I’ve never been more repulsed by a person in my life, and that’s saying something. Dermot’s done terrible things to me. He once shaved my head while Shane held me down, took pictures of my bald scalp, and posted them online for our classmates to laugh at. Just boys being boys, the school administration said. Which now I realized really meant they were terrified of my father.
This is a new low for him. I lean forward, pressing the blade to his chest. He whimpers, sniffing and wiping his face.
“Say that again.” I stare into his eyes, holding his gaze. “How was it an accident?”
“Mal and I were fighting,” he says miserably, like the words are coming out on their own power. “Mal was losing his mind, kept saying something about finding guns in my house and blaming me for trying to take him out. I had to defend myself, but then Mom tried to break it up, and she grabbed me, and I just…”
“You just stabbed her.”
He nods, sniffling. “Just the once!”
“I saw her, Dermot. Tell me the truth.”
“Okay, it was more than once… and then Mal helped me drag her into the office… and she wasn’t doing great, and Mal started freaking out again and then Dad got involved… and that’s when I got hurt. I don’t know what happened to Mom after that. I swear it!”
“You butchered her.”
“No, no, no, no, it’s not like that. It was a mistake. Just an accident. I was out of control, fighting for my life, and she got in the middle of it—”
“You know what’s sick? I’m not even surprised anymore. After everything you’ve done to me, I’m not shocked that you’d stoop this low. That you’d do something so reprehensible.”
“Caroline,” he says, eyes wide, the tears threatening again. “I’d never—”
I hit him in the face. I hit him as hard as I can. He grunts in shock. “Don’t you fucking lie to me. Don’t you dare.” I hit him again, mostly because it feels good, and press the knife to his neck.
“Please, I’d never hurt Mom, not on purpose.” Tears stream down his face.
“No, you save that for me most of the time.”
He sobs once. “I was awful to you when we were young. I’m sorry, I was an idiot!”
“You weren’t even a kid. You just liked abusing one. And you know what’s funny about all this?” I lean in close, my lips pulling back into a big smile. “I’m the one who killed Shane and Redmond. It was me and Finn the whole time.”
Dermot jerks back in pure shock. He looks at me then at Finn. My husband stands nearby, watching. His eyes are hooded and dark. I can see the lust on his face, how badly he wants to torture Dermot the way Dermot must’ve tortured him. Except this one’s all mine.
“You two? But… but why?”
“You really have to ask? After what you did to me? After the hell you put him through? This is your sin catching up to you.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Caroline, I’m sorry—”
“Not good enough. I hope there’s something after this, mostly so you can rot in fucking hell where you belong.”
I jerk the knife. He gags in shock as I dig the blade in deep, sawing and cutting. There’s so much blood. It spurts out in thick gouts as I slice my brother’s throat open. I keep going, screaming as I do it, wild and out of control, hating him for what he did to me and Finn and Mom, hating him so much it spills out of me like black oil. I only stop when Finn puts a hand on my shoulder and Dermot’s not moving anymore. He’s a pile of pale, sticky flesh.
“Good job,” Finn says and pulls me against him. I let out a cathartic sigh and close my eyes.
There’s a mechanical click from back toward the door.
Finn goes tense. I don’t recognize the sound but it’s clear he did. Slowly, he turns and forces me to look with him.
Malachy’s standing ten feet away, a gun aimed at Finn’s head.
My oldest brother looks steady. His face is shockingly calm. I expected to find a manic, psychopathic, paranoid mess, but it’s like he’s back to himself. I’m almost happy.
Except Mal keeps the gun trained on Finn. “Drop your weapon.”
“I don’t know what you think is happening here—”
Mal grips the gun with his free hand, steadying his aim. “Count of three or I kill my sister and then I kill you. One. Two—”
Finn drops his gun. It clatters to the floor. “Don’t shoot her.”
I cling tightly to my husband. I feel sick. My heart’s a hammering mess. This can’t be happening. How much did he hear?