Page 45 of Pretty Nightmare

He pauses. Makes a decent attempt at a smile. His one open eye might even be twinkling a little. “Because you taught me everything I know.”

I let out a long breath. He’s not wrong. I did train this fucking kid. And thinking back on it now, it was even my idea. He’s tough. And his martial arts skills are better than mine. Not as sure a shot as Indie. Or me, probably. But he can shoot. Not that it matters. Not that any of this matters. He has no gun now. He would fight, and he’d fight hard, but he wouldn’t win. Not in this condition.

But in another condition, one where he is not bleeding from the head and mouth, one where both of his eyes are open and he doesn’t have several broken ribs…

Then maybe. He’s in his prime. I’m on the other side of mine.

So. Maybe.

Maybe killing him is the better option?

If Adam were here, he’d do it.

“I left because Indie begged me to, McKay. She was waking up. She was remembering things.” He shakes his head. “Every day she would tell me something new while she was living at the cottage with me. Every fucking day it was something else you fuckers did to her.”

Something happens to me when he says these words. It doesn’t happen often. And it’s almost always just before something real bad is about to go down. I feel a rush of adrenaline. Not in my blood, like is typical. My heart doesn’t speed up at all. That’s not what this feels like. It’s in the muscles. In my arms. In my legs. It feels like I just did two hundred bench presses and every bit of stored energy in my body has been used up in an instant. It only takes a second or two. And then my arms and legs get tingly and numb.

And I feel… weak.

“She wanted me to take Magnolia with me. Bet you didn’t know that, did you?”

“What—”

“You’re so fucking stupid, McKay. You’re his little fucking… what? What are you to him? Do you even know?”

I don’t answer. I figure the question was rhetorical. But there is a part of me that wants to answer. I just don’t know how.

“He used you, McKay. Just like he used Indie. She told me things. Maybe not everything, but she told me things. I know who you are.” He whispers this. “I know what you guys do.”

I laugh it off. “What do you want? A fuckin’ medal?”

He huffs, nods his head. “It’s all a joke to you guys, isn’t it? That little girl you stole. Those jobs you made her do. All that killing. The way Donovan warped her mind.”

“What the fuck do you know about it?”

“I know who I am, at least. Can you say the same? Can Indie? Adam?”

This little fucking prick really does want to die today. Maybe I should just give him his wish?

“Do you even know who my grandfather was, McKay?”

I shrug. “No one special. Just like you.”

“You sure about that?” He eyes me with what might be a grin. I wish his face wasn’t so fucked up. I’d be able to read it better. But it’s all contorted and swollen and my mind is still spinning.

Shit just went down. Indie is psycho. Donovan is doing… whatever the fuck he does to her mind, right this very moment. And Adam is driving drugged to… where? A hospital? I don’t know how serious eating daphne berries is. Maggie was screaming for sure. But I can’t fit all the consequences together. Can’t predict what might happen next without all the information. And now Nathan St. James is here telling me—

“My grandfather was second in command to Admiral Tate up until that shit went down in Santa Barbara. You ever hear of a man called Tate, McKay?”

This, I decide, is a loaded fucking question. Because of course I have heard of a man named Tate. Two of them, to be exact. “So what? Admiral Tate wasn’t ever in charge. That psycho bitch Francesca Fenici was.”

“Mm-hmm. She had an affair. Who do you think she had that affair with?”

I chew on this for a minute.

“Ding, ding, ding.” He says this weak and slow. And I wonder if he’s been playing this conversation out in his head his whole life. Dreaming of the day when he could spill his secrets. And how he might surprise the person he’s spilling them to.

But should I care if Nathan St. James is part Fenici?