Page 70 of Pulling Strings

Twelve years earlier

The smell of food in the house was staggering. My stomach had claws that had been tearing at me for a week, and now I feared the beast of hunger would rip me in half. But how could I think of eating while the frightened couple sat at the table with their mouths gagged and their hands taped to the armrests of their dining chairs?

“Well?” Grimm looked at me. “Your brother is waiting in the car. He’s not doing too well, is he? Seven days is a long time without food, and he’s so very young.”

Donovan turned nine last week. Away from our home. Away from our family. His birthday had been spent locked in a motel room, living off vending machine snacks until they took those away, too.

This was my fault.

I’d made a promise, then failed to keep it. I told Grimm I would kill again without understanding how I’d done it in the first place. The memory of it hauntedme, bright and bloody, crowded into my brain alongside the images of my parents’ broken bodies.

Vinton wandered over to the bound man’s plate, lifting a fork loaded with a cube of cut steak. My mouth watered.

“Kill them, and you can have all of this.” Grimm gestured to the spread. Not just steaks, but side dishes, too. Mashed potatoes, green beans, and warm rolls with butter.

The couple had been celebrating, made obvious by the cake on the pass-through counter with candles waiting to be lit. That was all ruined. When we left here, they would be dead whether I did the deed or not.

More than my stomach hurt now.

The house was warm and cozy. Lived in and a little messy. It was familiar. Like home.

I had felt what the frightened couple felt now. I had watched the end come to all good things in my life. I couldn’t bring that ruin on anyone else. I wouldn’t.

I took a step back.

“Oh no, you don’t.” Grimm grabbed the front of my shirt and gave me a rough shake. “Remember our deal? A life for a life? Don’t think I won’t let your pipsqueak brother waste away.” Another jostle rattled my teeth. “Don’t think I won’t make you watch.”

I swallowed, nauseous but knowing there was nothing to throw up. Just acid and bile burning a hole in my gut.

Standing aside, Avery picked at his nails. “Let’s keep the kids, he says,” he taunted. “It’ll be fun, he says.” He looked up, his expression suddenly serious as he said, “This isn’t fun.”

With a growl, Grimm dragged me close, his face inches from mine. “Kill that man, and you’re the hero. Save the day. Pack up a nice doggy bag for littleDonnie.”

Vinton scooped a pile of mashed potatoes and stuffed it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, smirking.

The man and woman struggled in their seats, grunting unintelligibly. The woman caught me staring and froze. Fearful? Yes. Confused. And sad.

“I can’t…” I said.

Grimm shoved me back, and I fell. My tailbone cracked painfully against the wood floor.

“Avery!” he snapped. “Get Donovan out of the car.”

With a sigh, Avery pushed away from the wall and headed toward the home’s front door.

“No!” I yelped. “Don’t bring him in here. He’ll be scared.”

Grimm loomed over me, his chest heaving with angry breaths. “I’ll do as I damn well please with your brother. And, if you don’t start taking this seriously, I’ll let you starve till you’re so goddamn desperate you’ll thank me when I feed him to you.”

“My husband cut his own throat,” Beatriz sobbed. “With a steak knife. He just sawed back and forth, and blood was everywhere… He wanted to stop. I saw it in his eyes. But he was like a man possessed. That demon possessed my husband’s mind.” This time, her point at me stirred pain in my chest.

Aster tracked the gesture to where I sat, warring with my expression lest it betray me. “Thank you for your bravery in coming here today, Miss Silva,” Aster told Beatriz, then turned to Maximus. “I have no further questions.”

Not off to a great start.

But Beatriz Silva was an outlier. The gang knew better than to leave survivors, lest they come back to cause trouble, even years later.

“You say your husband cut his own throat?” Talbot stood and edged past our table to approach the witness stand. “So, he committed suicide.”

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