Page 46 of Dead Man's Wish
“He’s not coming for you.” The weak taunt to pick at any insecurities hit me like a feather. His shortcomings came through in everything he did. No one had ever been there to save him, but I wasn’t him. I knew Jaiden would knock on Hell’s door before he broke in to drag me back.
“Fine with me, I’ll kill you without him all the same.” I swung another foot into his face. A broken clock was right twice a day, and this fucker had learned for once. He caught my ankle and jerked me forward. I fell on my ass, and he slid me across the floor.
But a broken clock is still fucking useless at the end of the day.
I tightened my abdomen and kicked my free leg over his shoulder. Throwing my hips, I brought him back down. He freed my ankle and sat between my thighs. I squeezed around his neck and locked my ankles. His face bloomed crimson as I stole his oxygen and cut off the blood supply to his pebble brain.
“How embarrassing,” I grunted, exerting more pressure. “I kicked your ass with my hands tied.” His desperate attempts to beat my legs off him came with feeble blows. It was like a toddler trying to attack.
A knock to the back of my head disrupted my hold. My legs released and a dizziness set in as I crawled off Peters. I shook my head and gathered my wits.
“What the fuck was that!” I screamed into the floor. I pushed myself to standing. All these fuckwits were capable of were sucker punches and uncoordinated chaos. Peters was lying on the floor, gasping for air like a beached fish, so the only threat before me was a slim woman roughly my size in height and build, age too.
A ghost I’ve met before. Unremarkable all the same.
“Nicky,” I greeted, faux excitement laced in the curse of her name. “I was beginning to doubt my own mind on if you were real or not.” My bound hands raised, I pointed at her. “You’re a better ghost than Brent, let me tell you.”
“I don’t go by Nicky anymore.” Her voice was airy and light, childlike, and it grated every last nerve of mine. It didn’t portray the deranged killer she truly was.
“Right.” The sarcasm dripped from me like the blood from Peters’s nose. “What shall I call the mastermind twat because clearly that one”—I pointed to Peters’ battered body shaking and crying on the ground—“can’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag.”
“It’s Veronica.” Her answer was clipped.
“Veronica!” I acted as though all the lightbulbs were turning on and I hadn’t pieced together shit of anything. “No wonder we couldn’t track that down. Everyone treated you like—”
“A boy?” she interrupted. Only, I was going for a far meaner jab of invisibility. She was in one photo. She had a connection so deep and strong with her cousin, Brent, but she only managed to be in one photo. Had to sting. “My mother wanted one, ironically enough. My father named me, but she refused to call me anything other than Nicky.” I wiped my mouth. There wasn’t blood or spit, but it was a show of boredom and indifference.
“I was going to say invisible and nothing but sure. You know, y’all have one fucked-up family.” The burning question I had since seeing the photo surfaced. “Why were you at the precinct? Why did you talk to me, possibly risking exposing yourself?” She watched me and I took the silence to my advantage. “I mean, you’d have to be remarkable for me to even care and remember you. Insignificant to Brent and to the world, it seems.”
“It didn’t matter! You wouldn’t have had a clue either way! I could’ve told you everything about me in that moment, but you’re too far up your husband’s ass for anyone else to matter.” Oh, the insecurities that flooded from this woman. I straightened, but not out of fear. It was another game for me. I held up a finger.
“Rude, first of all. But I get your disdain for someone who dotes on another. Second”—my other finger joined in—“I wouldn’t have had a clue because you’re as intriguing as drying paint. Or did you not get that from a moment earlier?” Indifference and confidence were the easiest ways to rile them up and get them to crack and make mistakes.
“What did he see in you?” Her muttered question was almost indiscernible.
“Excuse me?” She couldn’t have been referencing Jaiden. There was zero overlap in their history.
“Why did Brent choose you over me?” This lightbulb actually brightened with her clarity. The dates I’d found indicated some betrayal of sorts.
“By the fucking stars,” I said, not feeding her any answers. “This is therapy on a level I can’t even fathom. I’m definitely not qualified enough to sort through your sordid desires and questions about Brent.”
Nicky unsheathed a kitchen knife from behind her back and I stepped away, putting a couple feet of distance between us.
Unfair little bitch.
“You’re his cousin, Veronica. That’s pretty gross, you know? You have to know that.” Psychologically disarming and sending her reeling was a fifty-fifty shot for disaster.
“Not by blood!” Her breathing picked up; her rage swelled. It was turning into a sixty-forty situation. “My mother was adopted.” I laughed despite the newest odds. I held up a hand, hoping she’d honor a moment of truce and not attack while I was bent over cackling.
“Damn,” I said on an exhale, standing and looking at her again. “Talk about the piss poor life lottery you drew, huh?” I casually backed up and my legs bumped against that decrepit couch. “I mean, Brent—”
“Don’t say his name!” Her grip on the knife turned white-knuckled.
“Brent,” I emphasized despite the sinking chances of me getting out of here without a knife wound. “Was born a fucking psychopath. Hisdaddycontributed all sorts of fucked-up genetic code.” The rage burned in her eyes, and I kept pressing that gaping emotional wound. “Turns out, the adopted sister also happened to produce a psychopath in the same family despite that mismatched genetic coding. What are those odds?”
Veronica screamed, announcing her attack before her feet even moved. Her right shoulder twitched and betrayed her next move. I threw up my bound wrists as she swung the knife toward my chest. The blade caught in the loosened rope and bought me time to twist her wrist back so violently, she released the handle. It clanged against the floor by my foot, so I kicked it under the couch before she could retrieve it.
“Even fight, bitch,” I goaded her before swinging a knee into her crotch. Racked with pain, she dropped to a knee, and I didn’t waste another second standing in front of her.
