Page 24 of Unlawful Lies
“Been rolling around on the floor of a slaughterhouse?” she says with a hint of a smile. “Eddie, you know how to get into trouble.”
For the first time in my life, I’ve got no clue how to start. Words feel paltry and insufficient.
“Where are your mother and brother?” I ask.
Nicola glances over her shoulder. “Well, Mom is in her room, hasn’t left it for hours, and Scott went out to a party. Why?”
“We need to talk.” My heart drops the moment I say it because those three words are always bad news. They never preface something decent and good.
No man covered in blood would show up on the doorstep of a powerful family close to midnight with good news.
I watch the color leach from her face. “Tell me.”
She cuts right to the chase, this girl. I fucking wish there was another way to do this. But there isn’t. The merry-go-round continues whether I like it or not.
“Why are you covered in blood?” she presses when I’m still for too long. “Something’s going on.”
I hold out a hand for her to take. “Come with me.”
Nicola eyes it like I’ve offered her a king cobra.
“Goddamn it, take my hand. Now.”
A single command might be ignored, but a second one? We both knew the lesson well. Maybe we both had it beaten into us at the same time to obey without question. Only in my case, I’ll graduate from the one on his knees to the one giving the orders.
Nicola will not. As a female with an older brother, her duty is to keep her head bowed and obey. Yet there she stands, balking and red-faced, her eyes going dark and narrow as she pierces them through me
Without waiting for her to give me an answer I’ll no doubt hate, I reach out and grab her wrist, tugging her over the threshold.
“You’re going to get blood on my dress.”
“Then you’ll have it dry cleaned.”
I pull her toward the car and keep hold of her wrist as I fumble for the trunk. A press of a button has the lid popping open, and inside, god, inside?—
“Look, I’m sorry.” I maintain eye contact with the woman trembling in the moonlight, staring at the body wrapped in plastic. “I’m sorrier than I can begin to express.”
Only the top of his head is visible above the blue tarp. If you zoomed in on Salvatore’s face, he might only be sleeping. Might be taking a quick nap in the trunk while his body cooled and rigor mortis set in.
Nicola’s mouth opens to scream, but no sound comes out. Nothing happens.
Her gaze fixates on her father’s head. I’ve seen horror before. I’ve seen fucked-up shit that haunts me when I close my eyes, but the emotions on her face are too fast for me to follow and even harder to feel myself.
Those kinds of things disappear when you’re in this line of work. Any shred of compassion or humanity has to die in order to be successful. Maybe I have too much of the stuff left because the sight of her breaking tears at my heart with iron fists.
Her silence makes it all the more surprising when she launches herself at me. Her fingernails make contact with my cheeks before I push her hands away.
“How could you? Why? Why, Eddie!”
She’s going for the eyes, and those claws of hers are sharp enough to cause serious damage. Pain flashes, and heat trails along my skin. She’s scratching the shit out of me, and I’ve got to push it all aside.
I force ice into my veins. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t me. I had nothing to do with this.”
“Then why is he in your trunk? Why do you have him?” Nicola screams. “Why is he dead?”
I fumble with her, and she lands another powerful scratch across my right eye. Growling, I somehow manage to spin her around and lock my arms around her torso to quiet her. But Nicola is uncontained motion and grief.
She bucks against me and slams her head backward. She’d have broken my nose if I hadn’t ducked at the last minute. Instead, her skull cracks against my shoulder.