Page 232 of Crucible
“Not so fast, Finnegan. This one is for all the marbles…” Finnegan’s curiosity wins out, and he keeps his finger off the trigger.Bad kitty.“When did my uncle hire you to kill me?” I know by his minute pause that he wasn’t expecting me to ask that question. My gaze narrows, and he widens in return. “When did…myfuckinguncle…hire you…to kill me?”
Finnegan blows out a defeated breath. “Fuck it. Three months ago, okay? A few weeks before your plane crashed.”
I’d always wondered how my uncle was able to arrange everything so quickly—particularly the ranch he purchased not far from here that I still haven’t seen. My exile from public scrutiny had nothing to do with my leaked sex tape. The blizzard, the crash, finding the cabin…
This was always going to happen.
“Our orders were to wait a few days and follow you. We were going to make it look like an accident then too. Your uncle thought he got lucky with the plane crash, but then your body was never recovered, so he sent us to find you. This will have to do.”
Click.
Finnegan gapes at the gun and then glowers as he stupidly tries again. Click, click, click, click, click, click.
Placing my hands on my hips, I lean most of my weight on my right leg. “Seriously, you’re a gun-for-hire and can’t even tell the difference in the weight when there’s no mag inside? I want a refund.”
“How? When?”
I twirl the end of a curl around my finger. “During our little tussle. I ejected the clip and emptied the chamber while you were too busy trying to cop a feel. Yeah…I noticed. Myharem—as you called them—showed me a few tricks. Can you believe they’re good for more than just delivering the D?”
“You fucking bitch.” He throws the gun away and grips the ledge with his other hand. Still, his face turns red from the strain of holding himself up.
“You’re about to be murdered, dude. At least try an insult thatbites.”
This goddamn wasted cum-juice-turned-human-mold-spore looks me dead in my eyes and says, “I like Tania’s music better.”
I guess I had that coming.
I still shift forward and step on both of his hands in case he gets any ideas about grabbing me while I unclip my axe from his back with quick fingers.
A few weeks ago, the mere mention of Tania would have sent me into a rage, and I probably would have done somethingidiotic, giving Finnegan the chance to regain the upper hand but not today.
I’m already pretty fucking pissed, and I’ve been harnessing that rage ever since he had Seth shot.
“Well then…no need to hang around on my account. Get it?” I giggle and snort at my own joke. “Hang around?”
Raising the axe, I bring it back down as hard as I can, cutting off four of his fingers from the second knuckle down. Finnegan releases a blood-curdling scream as he stares at the gruesome gap between what’s left of his right hand and his severed fingers.
“You fucking bitch! You fucking cunt!”
“You have to do better than that if you want to hurt my feelings, Finnegan!” I bring the axe down a second time, severing the fingers on his left hand. Finnegan continues to scream as he falls down, down, dooooown…
SPLAT.
Blood sprays across the powder-white snow when he lands on the rocks below, and for a while, I’m frozen. I can’t do anything but stare down at the body to assure myself that he won’t get back up, even though I know no one can survive that.
When a full minute passes and Finnegan remains unmoving—a macabre black and red stain in the distance—I feel my shoulders slump.
It’s not until I hear feathers rustling and wings flapping that I realize I’m not alone. I turn around and see an owl resting in its nest with its back to me and head fully rotated while staring at me through wide, yellow eyes.
“Uhhh…”
Rocks tumble over the side of the upper ledge and my heart drops.
Someone’s coming.
Fearing the worst, I press myself against the wall to hide while my murder witness flies away.
“Goldilocks!”
