Page 142 of Deliverance

A look flickers across his face like he hadn’t thought of that. He stares at Bridgette for a moment, panic in his eyes before it quickly recedes.

“You’re right. Alright. New plan,” he says, lifting the gun and shooting Bridgette in the shoulder.

She cries out, falling to the ground as she clutches it.

“B!” I shout, rushing to her when Thomas points the gun at me.

I pause, looking down at Bridgette as she cries out in pain.

“Maryia lured you two here and shot you both dead for betraying her before killing herself. It’s easy enough to buy off a coroner to fake the time of death. Perfect, that’ll work well. Now, Margret, the account information, please,” he says as my mother hands me her phone with the login page to my dad’s bank.

“You’re gonna kill us anyways, why on earth would I make you rich while you do it?”

“I just figured you’d want to die first. I might have some fun with your little girlfriend before I finish her off. A last hoorah of sorts.” He smirks, his eyes combing over Bridgette before coming back to me. “You’re welcome to watch if you’d like to be difficult.”

Fear splashes across my face as Thomas closes the distance between him and myself.

“If you think for one second that you or this whore are making it out of here, you are fucking nuts.”

“If you think for one second that they came alone, you’re fucking nuts,” Asher says from the doorway, gun drawn.

Thomas turns to him as Ronan and Wesley come from the left, Vincent and Liam from the right. He turns wildly, searching for a way out or a weakness, but comes up short.

“You couldn’t have said that two minutes ago?” Bridgette grumbles, wincing as she clutches her shoulder.

“Sorry, our feed cut out. Blame Wesley’s piece of shit equipment.”

“It’s not the equipment,” Wesley grumbles.

My mother’s eyes dart around wildly before she tries to make a break for it. She runs towards Liam and Vincent before grabbing a hold of Liam’s gun. Before she can actually grab it, Vincent has her in a hold and is twisting her neck violently, the room echoing with a hollow crack. Her body drops to the floor, neck bent at an unnatural angle. I stare down at her dead body as I try to muster up any semblance of a feeling. Killing her wasn’t a part of the plan. Mainly because we had no idea she was in on it. Now, knowing what I know, feeling what I feel, I can honestly say her death feels more like cause for celebration than mourning, and I don’t care how fucked up that sounds.

Thomas’s eyes round with shock and despair as he stares at my mother before falling to his knees. He tries to crawl to her when Ronan and Wesley pick him up, subduing him easily. Thomas lets out a mournful sob that shakes me straight to my core. Wow, it looks like although they were deranged, murderous narcissists, they actually loved each other. Again, no pity or remorse comes.

“How do you want this one handled, Bartlett?” Ronan asks.

I crouch down beside Bridgette, sharing a heavy look before I turn to the guys.

“Make him suffer.”

Thomas’s sobs echo through the empty house as the guys drag him out, tossing him into the van they brought. Vincent lifts up my mother’s body, carrying her to the van, as Liam crouches down, examining Bridgette’s wound.

“Through and through,” he says. “Let’s keep pressure on it and get you to the hospital.”

“Please,” she grits.

“I’m so sorry, baby. We should have had the guys come in sooner,” I say with a shake of my head.

She smiles weakly. “I blame them, don’t worry.”

“Hey! What did I do?” Liam defends.

We both ignore him as he helps me get Bridgette to her feet. They walk out the door and I follow after them before pausing. I look back at Maryia, or Maryia’s body, I suppose. An unfathomable amount of pain swells inside me. Pain for her, for her family. She was an innocent that got dragged into this fucked up situation. All she was trying to do was protect her sister, her family. She truly did whatever it took. My heart breaks. Despite not being in love with her, I did care about her, or at least the person I thought she was.

Stepping up to her, I close her eyes, saying a prayer or a thought, or whatever, that she is at peace. That she’s happy. That she’s okay and promising her and myself that her family will be okay, too.

When I make my way out of the house, I already see that the van is gone and Liam is in the driver’s seat of the car, Bridgette in the back. I slide in beside her, holding the wadded up gauze Liam has given her and applying pressure.

Her head leans back against the seat, mind seemingly whirling.

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