I shook my head and smiled as I scraped the edge of the knife up the stubble of his neck. His eyes were definitely wider then, and his surprise turned to fear when he straightened and I matched his movements exactly, keeping the knife to his neck. When his back was to the wall, I let the edge of the blade slide into his neck just slightly, barely a cut and still blood filled the slice. He flinched and his head banged against the wall-paper. It was like a shot of adrenaline through me; I suddenly had a hard time standing still, and my breathing quickened.
“I thought about recording this, but then I’d have to play a part.” I slid my knife around to rest against his pulse point. “And I’m done playing parts around a piece of rubbish like you.” Again I sliced just deep enough to break his skin and he hissed. “Besides, I don’t need your murderous confession for this to end my way. I just need you gone.”
Dad thrust his chin forward and glared down at me. “Gone where?”
I pushed out a laugh, but it didn’t sound like me. The sound was cold, bitter. “I suppose I could pay you to run, but I’m not sure you deserve that.” I leaned into him, pressing the flat of the blade against his skin so his tiny slices dripped blood down his neck. The sight of his blood flowing was another shot—this one burned through me, releasing all my rage. I clenched my teeth. “I am so done giving you chances.”
I forced myself to step back from him, to stab the knife into the table as hard as I could, to focus on the plan and not on the way it would feel to slice deeper, to watch his life drain from his face, to let my fingers run through the warm blood as it pulsed from his neck. It might have been the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life to step back, especially knowing what came next.
The back of his hand crashed into the side of my face, jerking my whole body to the side. “YOU STUPID BITCH!” he roared, backhanding me again just as soon as I’d righted myself. I felt blood fill my mouth, and when he grabbed my hair and forced my face up close to his, I spit it at him.
He stumbled back to wipe it from his eyes but never let go of my hair. “You’ll pay for that,” he growled into my ear, before throwing me down to the ground. It was almost too easy. He was so completely predictable. I scrambled to my hands and knees and back-kicked at his knee as hard as I could, which sent him to the floor and allowed me to run into the hall.
I pulled all the coats down from the rack by the door and flipped open the bolt and latch. By the time he made it out after me, I was scratching my nails down through the paint of the door, making sure there were chips under my nails. He might have put together what I was doing if he weren’t drunk and blind with his rage. Instead, he slapped me away from the door and threw me on the stairs. I spit again, this time toward the carpet.
He was limping as he came toward me, giving me just enough time to brace myself against the step. When he was in range, I kicked out as hard as I could for his same knee, then scrambled to get into his room. Before I made it past, he grabbed my foot and I went down barely an inch short of banging my head against the corner of his bedroom doorway. I kicked at his hand with my other foot until I got free and managed to crawl into his room and shut the door before he could reach me.
I clicked the lock shut and then stood, taking a few seconds to catch my breath and wipe the blood from my mouth. I looked down and smiled at the rip in the knee of my jeans. I pulled at the seam of my shirt as well, until the thread gave and it ripped up the side.
He was already banging his shoulder against the bedroom door when I got the knife I’d hidden under his bed. Two more slams and the weak wood of the door gave way. He smiled when he stormed through it. Smiled. Arrogant prick. He was so sure of his victory, he never saw me in the shadows of the doorway, holding a knife to his throat before he made it another step inside.
There was no fear from him this time, only rage. He actually bared his teeth at me as I walked him back against the wall, both of us trying to catch our breath.
“You played your part perfectly,” I hissed at him.
He only grunted, but I pressed the point of the knife into the hollow of his throat, freeing his words. “Now what?”
“Now?” I forced out another bitter laugh. “You haven’t figured it out yet? Now you pay for what you’ve done.”
“Killing those slime? I did the city a service getting rid of that crew. You don’t know—”
“I know everything!” I sank just the tip into his skin and barely stopped myself from pressing it home. But he would know what he’d done. “I know all about the robberies and about the money.”
His eyes were wide again, whether from the blood pulsing from his wound or from what I’d said, I couldn’t tell.
“You don’t get to pretend you’re some vigilante copper, ridding the world of some great criminal ring, especially when your wife was the mastermind!”
“There’s things you don’t know.” His voice pitched higher with his panic, which sent a buzz of adrenaline through my entire body. “Like the money—you know what that money could’ve done for your mom when she was sick? I begged for the money, so we could try that new treatment, but she wouldn’t tell me.”