“Ah, ah, ah,” he sings. “You hurt me, and he’ll kill her.”
Immediately, I release him, my heart slamming against my ribs as I fight the manic thoughts. I briefly consider grabbing my knife from his hand and trying to cut off my ears; anything to stop the torment.
He moves away, the ticking becoming slightly less intense before his arm comes swinging back, the glass face smashing into my cheek, my body slamming into the ground as an aching sting spreads up my jaw. He crouches down, dangling my knife between his knees. “I was there the night you killed my father,” he whispers. “I watched you through the windows as you took this knife.” He lifts it up to my face, tracing it down my body before jamming it into my side, deep. “And bled him out on the floor.”
Searing pain flares through my torso as he twists the handle, my teeth gritting against the burn.
“Do you regret it?” he asks.
My face is on the dirt floor, but I turn my head just enough so he can see me grin. “I’d kill him a thousand times over and force you to watch every one.”
He pulls the knife from my side, blood spurting from the wound and soaking my shirt, my skin growing clammy.
“He was supposed to be mine,” he says. “He promised he would take me in as soon as you were gone. He was going to send you away, but then suddenly changed his mind.” The blunt edge of the handle cracks against my cheek. “So, I waited… three years for you to turn eighteen, and then you fucked everything up.”
Copper pools in my mouth and I spit on the ground, pushing up until I’m sitting, my head growing fuzzy from the sudden movement. I lean back on the wall, my hand immediately pressing against my side to try and staunch the bleeding. “I did you a favor.”
“You took everything from me!” he screeches. “So, I’ll take everything from you.”
Although I’m sure he meant for his words to inspire fear, they only bring realization. Because I have thought that exact same phrase. Imagined it a thousand different ways as I visualized my final words to Peter. A laugh bubbles up my throat, the pain in my side twinging; although it’s nothing compared to the devastating truth, that Smee is just like me.
And to him, I’m just like Peter.
“You want my life?” I cough, blood bubbling in the back of my throat. “All you had to do was ask. It’s yours.”
Smee’s brows turn down. “That’s not good enough.” He stalks toward me, bending down until his face is directly in front of mine. “I want to see the look on your face as I kill the only person who would show you love.”
He’s talking of Wendy. Of course, it’s her. Because life is full circle, and it’s only fitting that he would take from me what I longed to take from Peter.
Pop. Pop.
My heart thumps in my chest as the gunshots ring out, my stomach clamping as my eyes swing to Wendy in fear.
No. Not her. Anyone but her.
Relief pours through my veins when I see she’s fine, the gun gone from her mouth, her eyes wide as she stares at the crumpled form of Starkey, dead at her feet.
Another pop rings through the air, Peter steps forward as he shoots Smee in the back of the head, and he too drops to the ground.
I don’t feel satisfaction from his death. I understand all too well the all-consuming rage of seeking vengeance. How it bleeds into your pores and poisons your blood until you can’t think of anything but seeking revenge. I only hope that in death, he finds peace.
“Morons,” Peter mutters, walking over and untying Wendy. “Tina, you can come out now.”
Tina stands from where she was crouching behind a large rock, hiding this whole time. I cringe as I stand, my hand pressing against my side, the burn radiating through my torso. My feet stumble from the way dizziness overtakes me, but I breathe deep, trying to keep my eyes focused.
“Your name is James Barrie?” Peter asks, tilting his head.
“It is,” I reply.
I have imagined this moment for years—of the look that would cross Peter’s face as he realizes just who I am. But now, I only feel hollow. I force my feet to move as I walk toward my knife, grunting from the pain of bending to pick it up, a gush of fresh blood spurting from my wound and seeping through my shirt. I’m not sure how deep the puncture is, but my body is becoming chilled, and I’m sure I’m losing more blood than what anyone would deem a reasonable amount.
“You look just like your father,” Peter continues. “And your brother looks like you.”
46
Wendy
How many secret family members does James have?
My wrists burn from where the rope was tied around them. I shake out my fingers, ignoring the throbbing in my head and the dried blood that pulls the skin on my face.
I woke up in a fog, a gun pressed to my temple, and Smee threatening James’s life. There are cuts on my wrist from where I fought against the rope, and honestly, I’ve never felt as helpless as when I saw James fall to his knees—a slave to his trauma.
If my father hadn’t killed Smee, I would have.
Anger floods through me like hot lava at how my father tricked me. Used my brother to get me here and allowed Tina to abuse me and tie me up.
That’s not love.
James laughs, his eyes wincing as he hunches over. Worry grips my chest tight, wondering just how badly he’s injured.
“You’re fucking with me,” he says. “A cousin and a brother? Must be my lucky day.”
My eyes snag on Tina as she inches closer to where I am.
My father taps his gun on his leg, his stance rigid, his eyes as hard as steel. If you had asked me a month ago, I would have told you there was no way my father owned weapons. Yet here he is, looking every bit the gangster.
“I wish I were joking,” he says.
James shakes his head and stumbles, his hand dropping his knife to the ground. My stomach falls to the floor, and I start to move, but I’m yanked back by the hair, Tina gripping me tight. “I don’t think so.”
I briefly consider fighting against her hold, but I don’t want to take my eyes off James, afraid that if I do, something terrible will happen. Panic spreads through my veins.
My father steps forward, kicking the knife out of the way and moving in front of James, pushing the gun into his forehead until he drops to his knees.
“Dad,” I plead, my heart slamming against my chest. “Stop it.”
He looks back at me. “Can you not see the resemblance, Wendy?”
“Resemblance to who?”
Tina pulls on my hair, making me wince.
“To Jon!” he snaps. “The bastard child of your mother and my old business partner, Arthur.”
My breath whooshes out of me, shock ramming my gut. “What? No, Mom would nev—”
“Please, Wendy,” my father laughs. “You’re always so naive.”
James’s mouth parts, his face growing pale. “Jonathan is… my brother?”
“Technically, half.” My father crouches down, taking two fingers and jamming them into James’s side. “I thought you had died with them.”
James curls over, groaning in pain, his face screwed up tight.
My stomach jerks as I choke out fumbled words. “Dad, please,” I beg. “If you’ve ever loved me at all, you’ll st-stop.” My chest burns, and Tina giggles from behind me. “Haven’t you done enough?” I gasp, my tears hot as they stream down my face.
My father pauses, removing his bloodied fingers and standing straight. He looks at me, his gaze growing soft. “I do love you, Little Shadow. But I cannot let this man survive. He burned all of my planes. He disrespected my offer of business. He spit in my face and paraded my daughter around like a cheap whore on his arm.”
Fury and grief war together for first place in my soul.
And as all of his declarations slot into place in my brain, any confusion I’ve ever had drains away, clarity overcoming every sense. I understand now why my father never paid any mind to Jon.
Why Jon has black hair and dark features, so similar to our mother’s, but also a lot like James.
Disbelief coasts through me, a whispered question dancing inside my brain.
My father turns back to James, pressing the barrel of his revolver against his head, and clicking back the hammer. “Any last words, Hook?”
“Bad form, Peter,” James grits out. “Not quite a fair fight.”
He looks past my father, locking his cloudy eyes on me. He licks his lips, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t say it,” I hiss, my stomach twisting until it tears. “Don’t you dare say it.”
He smiles, and I swear to God the sight makes me want to die.
“The greatest thing I’ve ever done in my life was to love you, Wendy, darling.”
My heart cracks in my chest, agony ripping through me so deep it brands my soul. A guttural sob escapes my throat, making my father spin around. I thrash my body violently against Tina’s hold, my head snapping back into her skull, her grip growing slack.
Ripping myself away, I stumble on the ground, rising on my hands and knees to crawl toward Starkey’s body, reaching out at the same moment Tina grips my ankle.