Fracture

30. Levi

CHAPTER 30

LEVI

I’ve never been afraid of dying.

Inevitable things don’t scare me.

My father died when I was almost too young to remember him. I have flashes of recollection - the glint of sunlight off his visor as he pulled into the drive, his laugh as I ran towards him, the feel of his leather jacket when he scooped me up in his arms - but other than that, there’s nothing.

I’m still sad he died, but death is a part of life. I’d have lost him sooner or later.

So yeah, I’ve never been afraid of dying.

Until now.

It’s not even that I’m afraid, not really. Not for myself, anyway. But as I stare at Dylan’s back, watching him brush away droplets of water from his back, his muscles flexing as he stretches his arms over his head to pull on a black shirt, I’m suddenly fucking terrified of death.

I don’t want him to die. I can’t bear the thought. A life without Dylan is a life I can’t even fathom, something I don’t even want to imagine for a second.

So I stare, and stare, watching him move and breathe, knowing he’s alive and that we’re walking into a situation that I’m desperate to finish but am fucking scared to my soul will end him.

Dylan turns around to catch my gaze, and stops short.

“Something on your mind?”

I swallow hard and nod, realizing I’ve bunched my t-shirt hard in my sweaty hands. I drop my eyes and clear my throat, yanking the shirt on over my head.

“Just thinking. Strategy, you know?”

“Sure.” Dylan pulls on his pants, his eyes still on me as he does up his belt. “Strategy.”

“Mhmm.” My hands are fucking shaking, and Dylan crosses the room to stand in front of me. I can’t look at him. If I look into those dark eyes, I’m going to fucking tell him all my fears. But he doesn’t give me that choice, notching a hand under my chin and forcing me to look up at him.

“Hey.” His eyes search my face for a moment, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a crooked grin. “It’s going to be alright.”

“I know.”

“You know, I never told you…” I trail off, and Dylan lifts an eyebrow.

“Tell me what?”

“There was a night, in prison, when you’d had a bad time, and I’d… I’d helped you.”

He smiles and nods, taking my hand. “You helped me a lot back then.”

“Yeah well, on this night, you fell asleep, with your head in my lap.” My eyes sting at the memory, and I clench them shut for a second to try and get a handle on my emotions. “I remember sitting there, and you were… I mean, you were just lying there, trusting me, letting me take care of you. I think… I think that was the moment I knew…” I look up at him, his dark eyes boring into mine. “There’s never been anyone else for me. It was you and Stella, always. All those girls at school, I was just talking myself into something.”

He huffs out a small laugh. “Sure did a whole lot of talking to yourself there.”

“Yeah, what can I say?” I shrug lightly, and raise my hand to cradle his jaw. “I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah you are.” Dylan lowers his head and brushes a kiss against my lips. “I love you anyway, though.”

“I love you, too.”

“You scared?”

I shake my head. “No.” Not in the way you think . “I’m angry. I want it done. I want them to pay.”

“Me too.” He presses another hard kiss against my lips, pulling back to speak, but I smother his words as I grab him and pull him down to me. I kiss him furiously, nipping and biting at his lips. He yanks me against him, his hands on my ass, and grinds against me in a way that has me groaning into his mouth.

But we finally do have to pull back, and get ready to go. And that feeling of dread sinks back into my stomach.

I hate this.

There’s a cool breeze springing up as we get on our bikes. The sun sinks behind the horizon, giving way to a slowly darkening sky. I pull on my helmet and look over at Dylan, the picture of calm as he zips up his leather jacket.

Don’t take him from me. Please .

I don’t believe in God. I don’t believe in anything, but Dylan and Stella. But just in case some mystical old man with a beard is looking down, I beg anyway.

Don’t take him from me. Let us finish this .

I push down the dread and the fear, and instead conjure up the image of Stella crying in her bathroom. My sweet Stella, covered in bite marks and scratches. Unable to sit down. Clawing into me and sobbing. Refusing to tell me what happened.

My dread is replaced by rage, blinding and souring rage, sending acid through my veins. The bike roars under me as I tail Dylan to my mother’s house, headlights of passing cars streaking by us until the night becomes quiet, and we navigate the empty streets of uptown.

The perimeter wall of my mother’s house is lit up, and the gate guard waves us in as we approach. Idiot, doing a great fucking job. The fucking irony that he could have waved in anyone dangerous, but waved in Gloria’s son, who’s going to kill her tonight. It’s almost enough to make me laugh.

My grandfather’s car is parked outside the house, his driver sitting in the front seat with headphones in, engrossed in some show on his phone. As long as he stays there, he’ll be fine.

Dylan and I pull up, the engines of our bikes falling silent. Dylan pulls off his helmet, and looks over at me with a grin.

“You ready?”

I nod, reaching under my seat to pull out the gun and tuck it into my waistband. Dylan is already armed with a knife, and I know this isn’t going to be a good death for any of the fuckers in this house. It’s all going to look like a tragic accident, everything that happens here tonight will be covered by ash and flames.

I can’t wait to watch it burn.

Dylan follows me down the side of the house to the kitchen door, and soft music plays in the distance. The kitchen is quiet, the food already served and the staff dismissed for now. Dylan pulls out his phone, swiping through a few screens.

“Zee’s still with Stella,” he tells me, swiping again. “And this Michael Gray isn’t in the house, he’s downtown.”

“Good.” The hired muscle has no reason to be here tonight, they don’t suspect a thing. The thought has me grinning.

They don’t see this coming at all.

My mother’s laughter meets us as we enter the hall, and I head to the dining room, following the sound. High heels clack on the floor, and I turn to see Valerie heading for us. Perfect.

“Hi, Levi!” She says brightly, her smile instantly dropping as Dylan grabs her, covering her mouth and holding the knife to her throat.

“The ledger, where is it?” He hisses into her ear.

Valerie shakes her head, eyes wide as she stares at me. There’s a muffled protest, and Dylan presses the tip of the knife harder into her skin, drawing a tiny drop of blood. Valerie squeaks and goes still. I withdraw the gun, holding it loosely in my hand, and Valerie’s eyes almost pop out of her skull as they land on it.

“The ledger, Valerie,” I say softly. “The one where you planned out the schedule to have Stella raped. We’d like to know where it is.”

Valerie shakes her head again, tears beginning to fall from her eyes.

Dylan traces the knife over her stomach. “I will gut you like a fucking fish, do you understand me? Now, tell me where that fucking ledger is.”

Valerie lifts a hand and frantically jerks it in the direction of the study. Dylan shoves her forward with his body, keeping his hand firmly over her mouth. I follow them as he pushes her into the door, and she scrambles at the handle, opening it and stumbling on her heels as Dylan forces her to move. I close the door behind us, putting the gun back in my waistband.

“Now, you sick bitch,” Dylan growls, “where is it?”

Valerie mumbles something against his hand, and Dylan sniggers darkly.

“Want to talk, do we?”

Valerie nods, her nostrils flaring as she breathes.

“If you scream or try to run, I will slice your throat, do you understand?” Dylan’s voice is menacing and sends goosebumps down my arms. He moves his hand slowly, keeping a firm grip across Valerie’s shoulders, the knife pressed to her skin.

Valerie gasps for air, her chest jerking in and out, sweat beading on her forehead. “Th-the safe,” she stutters, pointing at a painting behind the desk. “It’s a r-red diary, it’s in there.”

Dylan’s dark eyes land on me and he gives me a nod. “You know the combination?”

Valerie shakes her head. “I-I don’t, she never told me.”

“Liar,” Dylan snarls, and Valerie whimpers.

“I swear, I don’t, please, please don’t kill me.”

Dylan claps his hand back over Valerie’s mouth and grits his teeth as he looks at me.

“Any ideas?” he asks me.

I’m about to say that I don’t know, because my mother sure as fuck never told me that sort of information, and if she didn’t even tell Valerie, I can’t even begin to imagine what that safe holds. And then my eyes land on her desk, on the picture of my father, his wide smile and blue eyes, just like mine.

“Yeah, I know it.” It’s my father’s birthday. The one tiny remnant of my mother’s humanity, the love she had for the only good person who ever graced the halls of this fucking house.

I pull the painting from the wall, some useless old ancestor who’s long dead and doesn’t matter anymore. I throw it to the ground, revealing the steel door of the safe in the wall. I punch in the combination, and the light on the door switches from red to green. There’s a mechanic clunk as the steel bars roll back, and the door heaves open an inch.

I feel a pang for just a split second, thinking of how much my father loved my mother. Then I imagine his horror at what she turned into. A woman who scheduled a teenager to be raped like she scheduled her fucking salon appointments. My dad would be horrified.

At least he’ll never have to see her again. Because tonight she’ll be headed into the deepest pits of hell.

The red ledger is at the very bottom of the pile of papers and wads of cash. Its cover is faded, the leather corners worn.

I pull it out, spilling the contents of the safe all over the floor, and throw it on the desk. I open it up, to find my mother’s handwriting, neatly laying out names and dates, times and hotel rooms. One senator after another, even the names and numbers of their fucking PAs. All laid out neatly.

I feel sick, rage gnawing at my ribcage.

Page after page of names and dates. Plans and requests.

The senator requests a full wax, prefers smooth. Requests S be dressed in a sundress with hair in pig tails.

I lift my gaze to Valerie, who’s still crying softly with Dylan’s hand over her mouth.

“You knew about this?” I jab my finger against the open page. “There’s two people writing in this. I know my mother’s handwriting. The other person is you, right?”

Valarie’s face crumples, and Dylan jostles her roughly.

“Answer the fucking question.” He commands, and Valerie shrieks behind his hand as the knife slices into her skin.

She nods, and Dylan moves his hand to release her pleas.

“Yes, I did, I knew, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, Levi, I swear, I didn’t-”

“Don’t you fucking dare say you didn’t know what they were doing.” Dylan growls into her ear, and Valerie cowers, her eyes darting to the side as she freezes. “Don’t you stand here and say you didn’t really know, that you had no choice.”

“Please,” she whimpers, tears pouring down her face. “Please, I’m so sorry. I never wanted anyone to get hurt.”

Dylan’s eyes lift to mine. “Is it all there?”

I nod. “It’s all here. Names, dates, even special requests.”

Dylan’s jaw feathers violently, and the knife glints in the light as he lifts it from Valerie’s throat and plunges it into her stomach. Valerie’s body jerks back and forth as Dylan stabs her repeatedly, blood pouring down her legs. Her mouth opens in shock, no sounds coming out.

Dylan shoves her away from him, and she crumples to the floor, face down. She claws weakly at the carpet, whispered pleas falling from her lips.

“It takes a while to die from a stab wound to the stomach,” Dylan says, crouching down beside her to wipe the knife clean on the fabric of her skirt. “Anywhere from 3 minutes, up to 20. It depends. But it gives you time to try and make your peace with God before you meet him.” He rises to his feet and spits on her body. “ Zgnic w piekle .”

He steps around Valerie’s bloody body and moves to my side at the desk. He casts a glance down at the ledger, and shakes his head. There’s nothing else to say. We have the proof now, and all the names.

I scoop the ledger up from the desk, and we leave Valerie bleeding out in the study to go to the dining room, where my family awaits us.

“Valerie?” My mother calls lightly as we approach, the smile on her face instantly dissolving as we enter the room. “Levi? Dylan ?”

My grandfather turns in his chair, brow furrowing as he takes us in. His eyes land on the blood on Dylan’s hands, and his hand darts to his coat pocket.

“I wouldn’t do that, old man.” The gun is in my hands and trained on him, and he freezes, holding his hands up. “Everyone’s going to stay nice and quiet, OK?”

My mother’s eyes are wide, and she doesn’t move as Dylan approaches her.

“Hey, Gloria,” he says with a smile, crouching down beside her. “So, I hear you and me got it on, is that right? How was I? Did I treat this dried up cunt good?”

My mother scoffs out a laugh, pulling her face into a haughty mask as she clasps her hands in her lap.

“Get out of my house,” she says, her voice wavering ever so slightly.

Dylan laughs, his mouth twisting in a cruel smile. “I thought we could rekindle our love. You really want me to go?” He rises to his feet and grabs her throat in a bloody hand, shoving her back against her chair.

“Do not touch her!” Oswald bellows, jerking as I cock the gun and take a step closer to him.

“You keep your mouth shut, old man,” I say, throwing the ledger on the table. “I know you knew about this?”

“You hire low-class thugs to do your dirty work, they’re going to talk.” Dylan grins across the table at Oswald. “Your man squealed on you immediately.”

“You killed him, didn’t you?”

“Right around the time your men beat the shit out of our woman, yeah.” Dylan’s face darkens. “How much do you have to pay for men to assault an innocent woman, huh? What’s the going rate for a man like you to have people do his dirty work?”

My mother raises a hand and slaps at Dylan’s arm. “Let me go!”

Dylan rounds on her, clawing his hand around her throat, jerking her head forward and slamming it back against the chair. “Listen here, puta , you shut your fucking mouth before I make you suck on my fucking blade, you understand me?”

“Don’t you dare touch her!” Oswald rises to his feet, and I step forward to slam the gun into the back of his skull, sending him sprawling across the table, hacking coughs breaking from his mouth.

“You move again, old man, and I’ll put a bullet in your ear.” I stand over him as he groans and slumps back into his chair, blood trickling from the back of his head and staining the white collar of his shirt.

“What do you want?” Gloria asks, and I’m shocked to see tears welling in her eyes. She looks at me and shakes her head. “You’re not going to kill your own family, are you?”

“You think you’re my family?” I chuckle, shaking my head. “When have you ever acted like my family, huh?”

“I was a good mother,” she insists, fighting against Dylan’s hand. “I lost my way after your father died, that’s all. I loved him so much. Losing him destroyed me, Levi. You have to understand that.”

“Don’t you dare bring my father into this.” I train the gun on her. “Don’t you fucking take his name in your mouth. He’d be standing right here next to me if he was still alive.”

She clenches her eyes shut, her lips quivering. “Don’t say that.”

“He’d be fucking disgusted by you, by what you’ve become.” I jerk the gun at the ledger as she opens her eyes. “These names, that’s all of them?”

She nods, Dylan’s hand around her throat impeding her movement. “That’s all of them, every single one.”

“Was it your idea?” Dylan asks.

Her eyes flash up to him, and her lashes flutter, the column of her throat shifting in his hand as she tries to swallow.

“I-I just… I mean, Harold had been doing it for-”

Dylan yanks her head forward again and smashes it back against the wooden frame of her chair, and Gloria lets out a strangled cry. Oswald’s hands ball into fists on the table, but he doesn’t try to move, his eyes flickering to me and the gun for a moment.

“I asked if it was your fucking idea, you sick fucking hag.” Dylan snarls into Gloria’s face, his expression a mask of sheer rage.

“I-I knew what he’d been doing to Stella,” she stammers, trying to push away Dylan’s arm weakly. “He’d been taking pictures of her for years, her mother knew about it for Pete’s sake.”

“I’m going to ask you one last time.” Dylan withdraws the knife from the holster at his waist, and drags the tip of the blade along Gloria’s cheek. She whimpers and squeezes her eyes shut. “And if you don’t answer me, I’m going to do what I just did to your fucking secretary, and spill your insides all over your fucking filet mignon. Now, answer me .”

“It was my idea!” Gloria cries, her voice strained by horror as Dylan digs the knife into her cheek, drawing a stream of blood that mingles with the tears pouring from her eyes. “It was my idea! I know it was wrong, but Harold, he was power hungry, he wanted more, always more, and what I gave him wasn’t enough. He told me that. Do you have any idea how humiliating it was to be married to someone more obsessed with his daughter than his wife?”

“You sick bitch,” I say, revulsion curdling at the back of my throat. “So this was just a grudge for you because you married a fucking pedophile? Instead of helping Stella, you punished her?”

“You have no idea what it’s like to get older!” My mother screeches at me, slapping hard at Dylan’s arm. “You have no idea what it’s like to become invisible! Stella was so beautiful, and everyone loved her. You think I didn’t see your face at my wedding?” She sneers at me, writhing in Dylan’s grip. “I knew you were in love with her for years, I could see it. Sneaking into her room to sleep with her, don’t think I didn’t know!”

“I never touched her like that, not once.” The gun is shaking in my hands, my rage barely contained. “I held her through her nightmares, the nightmares you caused , you twisted fucking monster.”

“She was drugged , she had no idea it was even happening!”

At these words, Dylan’s eyes widen, pools of black and white rage, and he slams a fist into my mother’s stomach. She lets out a hollow howl, sucking in a breath as her eyes bug out of her head. Oswald cries out in protest, trying to dart out of his chair, but I slam the gun into his temple. He sags against the edge of the chair, putting a hand to the blood running down the side of his face, losing his balance and crashing to the floor.

Gloria starts crying in earnest now, her panic seeming to peak as Dylan releases her and steps back from her. She watches me approach slowly, the gun gripped in my hand, and she shakes her head.

“Levi, please,” she murmurs, hands gripping the chair. “Please, baby boy, I’m your mama. I love you.”

“I don’t need your kind of love.” I raise the gun to point it at her face. “I don’t need anyone like you anywhere near me. You’re evil.”

“Levi, please, please.”

“ Levi, get down! ” Dylan’s voice tears me out of the moment and I drop into a crouch, turning to see Dylan charging across the room at the man who’s appeared in the doorway with a gun in his hand, pointing directly at me.

The man aims at Dylan, and fires, the shot flying past Dylan as he tackles the man around his middle and sends them both tumbling to the ground. Dylan’s fists rain down on the man, who lifts his arms in defense, twisting his arm to smash the gun into the side of Dylan’s face.

Dylan recoils for a moment, but it’s long enough for the man to land a strike to Dylan’s side and get the drop on him, rolling Dylan onto his back and straddling him. He raises his weapon, but stops when I cock the gun against the back of his skull.

“Drop it, fucker.”

The man lifts his hands slowly, dropping the gun to the floor with a clatter.

“Now, get up slowly.” I keep the gun trained on him as he climbs off Dylan and rises to his feet. “Turn around.”

The man faces me, his face locked in a sneer as he looks me up and down.

“Mr Michael Gray, I assume?” I ask, my eyes flickering down to Dylan as he snatches up the gun before getting to his feet. “Looks like you picked the wrong family to work for, my friend.”

The bastard smirks at me, hands still raised. “You’re quick, I’ll give you that. But I was warned about that. Thugs like you, you’re good at fighting, but you’re dumb.”

“Dumb?” I snort. “You’re the one with two guns pointed at you right now.”

He laughs, a fucking chilling sound. “And if it had been me, I’d have used one by now.”

He moves so quickly I don’t even see it coming. One second, the gun is in my hands, the next, I’m disarmed, a fist slamming into my face, the gun gone from my hands, and a shot ringing in my ears.