Page 30 of Intrepid

“Yeah. I guess I am.”

Eyes widening, Fox sat back into his seat, stretching his arms across the space that separated him from Gideon‘s spot along from him. “Well, shit. Guess I underestimated your … tenacity. Bet you didn’t think a grease monkey like me knew such a big word, did ya?” His chest expanded with a deep breath, and on the exhale, his lips curled into a snarl. “You seem to have overestimated my patience.” Fox shot forward and slammed his blade into the back of Gideon’s palm, perched on the edge of the table.

A gurgled cry bounced off the walls, captured into Fox’s palm, as he slapped his hand over his sidekick’s mouth to quiet him.

My heart caught in my throat, fingers digging into the cushions, as I watched the blood seep from where the blade stood lodged in Gideon’s flesh.

“Oh, fuck,” Eli muttered beside me, and tipped back his shot glass.

I remained still, staring at the kid’s mutilated hand, his muffled cries failing to move me. I wondered what my father would do if he were there. No doubt, he’d have been smarter. He wouldn’t have followed anyone in the first place, and if he had, and gotten himself caught up in the same mess, he’d have fought his way out.

Maybe to the death.

No, not with me, though. He wouldn’t have risked getting me killed. He’d have told me to stick it out. Whatever I had to do in order to stay alive, and to wait for the precise moment when opportunity might present itself.

Then strike hard.

Hand trembling, I lifted the shot glass and swallowed the liquid. It burned as it slid down the back of my throat, like flames in my mouth, and did nothing to help rein in the tears itching to escape. I set the empty glass onto the table, keeping my gaze locked on Fox’s, who smiled as his eyes stalked every movement.

“That’s a good boy.” Removing his hand from Gideon’s mouth, he wrenched the knife from the kid’s palm, inciting one more howl of pain, and set it down beside the bottle of Jack. Blood dripped from the tip, collecting in a tiny pool atop the wood.

Somehow, I was certain that wouldn’t be the last of the blood spilled. I had a feeling there’d be much more to come.

Fox puffed his blunt, and poured another round of shots. “Y’like drinking games, boys?”

“I’ve never played any, sir.” Eli’s tune had changed quickly in the last hour.

Mine was still trying to figure out the right song.

“I tend to like the ones where the stakes are a bit higher. Y’all heard of Truth or Dare, I’m sure, but we’re going to play Drink or Dare. Here’s how it works. You either drink as much as you’re told, or perform a dare. Once you choose, you can’t go back. And if you pass out, well …” He snorted and tossed back another shot of liquor. “Let’s just say, you don’t wanna pass out.”

His smile stretched wider, into the wicked grin of a sadist who was about to feed his every whim.

10

Sera

Present day …

The nice thing about volunteering as an in-home caregiver on the weekend was being able to get all my studying done.

On Saturday evenings, I typically relieved Lilia, the fulltime nurse, and stayed until Sunday night, so she could get some much-needed time off. And since the woman I cared for was no stranger, it was a nice break from the norm—a place where time seemed to move at a much slower pace. I figured, Jo had taken care of me seven years as a maid and pseudo-nanny before she’d had a stroke, so repaying the favor was the least I could do.

Aside from a few combatant moments, she mostly remained in a vegetative state, staring off at the wall, or wherever I parked her wheelchair. A sight that troubled me, given how feisty and outgoing she’d once been.

Lilia would tell me it was her history of alcohol and smoking that’d contributed to her stroke, and physiologically, that might’ve been the case, but I believed the psychological effects of having found out what’d happened to her missing son played a much bigger role. One that’d left her mentally paralyzed long before the stroke had hit.

Lilia lived with Jo during the week, and stayed with her boyfriend on weekends, when I covered for her. The arrangement worked out beautifully for both of them—Lilia could conveniently work full time while studying for her nursing degree, and Jo received round-the-clock care outside of a nursing home, in a safer neighborhood than where she’d lived for twenty, or so, years. The alternative had never been an option, as far as I was concerned—I’d never have let her rot away in some poorly maintained nursing home, like the one her social worker had worked tirelessly to secure for her. Nothing against the woman—she did what she could with what Jo had to her name—but it wouldn’t have been right. Not after what she’d been through.

Dusk settled over the house, signaling the end of my shift, as I gathered up my bags, while Lilia carried groceries inside.

“Hey, I checked the account this morning,” she said, as she passed where I stood beside Jo. “No deposits. Any idea what’s going on with that?” Lilia set the armful of groceries onto the recently bleached countertop, and tossed her keys into a bowl set off to the side.

Through some hard-won negotiations on my part, my father had agreed a while back to take over Jo’s care. Not like he didn’t owe it to her after his ruthless prickiness had left her penniless.

Frowning, I pulled the duffle higher up on my shoulder and shook my head. “I’ll look into it. You had enough for groceries, right?”

“Yeah. But it’s almost the end of the month. Her meds will be up, and I’ve got rent on the first.”