End Game (25 page)

Jack moves closer to me. I’m still staring at the spot where the newspaper used to be. His oppressive presence fills me with dread; I don’t dare look at him because I’m afraid of what he’ll ask.

“I want that bitch gone, Joey. Do it tonight and get rid of her.”

The ground seems to fall beneath my feet. A swooping sense of horror vacuums the air from my lungs. My fingers dig into the felt. “No,” I say in a shaking voice. “No, I can’t do it.”

He seizes my arm, his nails digging into my flesh. I’m barely able to register any pain at all. “She needs to go.”

Suddenly, Vince is at my side. “Joe, let’s talk in the office.”

His low voice gives me a spark of hope. Maybe he’ll know a way out of this. He said he went through the same thing, didn’t he? Jack nods and I numbly follow Vince into the office. When the door closes behind me, I fall into the chair in front of Vince’s desk, but he doesn’t go behind it. He sits next to me.

“This is so fucking unfortunate,” he says, kicking the desk out of anger.

I can see him sitting on his chair, his elbows on his knees as he gauges my reaction.

“I’m so sorry, but I have to agree with Jack. She’s got to go.”

Vince’s face is full of regret, but his eyes are ruthless. There’s no way out of this. He knows it. I know it.

I want to scream. An image of myself taking the desk and throwing it against the wall burns in my mind. I’m bleeding to death. It’s like my sister all over again. The crushing weight of despair, of never-ending solitude, and fear squeezes my chest until I’m gasping for air. I bury my face in my hands and my eyes burn. My sister’s dead and now she’s dead, too.

She was the last hope I had for myself, and now that’s gone.

“I can’t do this, Vince. I fucking can’t.” Tears burn my eyes as I shake my head, my voice trembling. “
Please
, Vince. I can’t do it!”

I can’t look into her eyes and pull the trigger. To do so would be to kill the last human part of me. I’ll never escape my guilt, because I do feel something for her. It explodes out of me, just like Janice’s death. It’s strong and it hurts.

He wraps an arm around my shaking back and squeezes my shoulder. “All right. I understand. Someone else will do it.”

“No!” A raw, animalistic noise leaves my throat as I lift my head and look at Vince. His eyes crease with sympathy, but at the same time, he’s holding back.

“This has to be done, Joe,” he says in a hard voice.

Has to?

I sit up without caring that he can see tears swimming in my eyes. There won’t be a compromise from him. She’ll die, and they’ll do it their way.

She will suffer.

Breath catches in my throat. “I’ll do it.”

I don’t want anyone to hurt her. They won’t be gentle. They might drag it out. Oh,
God
. The idea of cleaning her up makes me sick.

The panicked voice inside my head booms in my ear. I can’t do this! I can’t fucking kill her!

“Think about everything you’ve worked for, Joe. You don’t want to throw all that away.”

Throw it away? But it’s okay for me to throw her away? I can’t just ignore the fact that having her around made me happier than I’ve been in months. Oh, God. What am I supposed to do? She’s the piece of my heart that screams right now. I just started fucking feeling normal again, and now—?

I have to make a choice and stick with it. Kill her or suffer the consequences. My head pounds as I try to think about the logistics of it all, what I’ll do with her body—and a wave of nausea hits me hard. It’ll be easier—it’ll be less painful to be killed than to do this to her. But the family is my life. My loyalty never wavered until now. Never have I felt so divided, so unsure.

My heart doesn’t feel divided. It knows what it wants: her. I can’t do this without losing a part of me forever.

“Joe?”

“You told me I had to make a choice. I’m making one now.”

MARISA

The needle of the grandfather clock ticks loudly. Every tick snaps through me, almost as if it beats in tandem with my heart. The guy that Joe left to watch over me doesn’t say much. He stands against the wall, and helps himself to a beer in the fridge, looking at me as if he doesn’t know what to make of me.

I wonder how long it’ll be until I can finally go home without being followed. But here’s the disturbing part: I don’t mind being with Joe all the time. We get along pretty well. Pretty amazingly well, if you think about the circumstances. He even cooks for me. Tonight, I wanted to return the favor.

I’ve started something in the kitchen. My dad made a pretty mean spaghetti sauce. Ben watches carefully as I slice vegetables and throw them into the giant pot. It’s unorthodox to put so many vegetables into the gravy, but I don’t care. Dad didn’t really raise us as traditional Italians. A flutter of warmth stirs in my chest when I imagine the moment he will walk through the door, wearing a beaming smile. He’s really come a long way since the first time I met him. He doesn’t seem so sad.

I tip a can of crushed tomatoes inside the pot and stir vigorously. Ben licks his lips as the steam of cooking vegetables and meat fill the small kitchen, and I smile a bit to myself.

How strange.

Ben always gives me the impression that he wishes he was somewhere else, but then he gets a phone call, raises the phone to his ear, and his expression shifts. All of a sudden, his face tightens and he looks at me intently after he hangs up the phone. The stare he gives me reminds me of wolves. The energy between us feels different. He moves near the door, his limbs tense as if he thinks I’m going to sprint outside.

“Something wrong?”

He plasters a smile on his face, and for some reason it gives me chills. It’s all wrong. The eyebrows don’t raise, and the eyes are narrowed in malevolence.

“Nah. Joe will be home, soon.”

In that moment, he reminds me strongly of Nathan, my psychopathic brother who spent my younger years torturing me. I turn my back on the frightening image and grab the wooden spoon, feeling his gaze on the back of my neck.

He’s been gone so long. Joe told me he was only going to Vince’s house to apologize. Surely, he should be back by now.

Then a knock shatters the silence, and I jump. Red sauce flies as the spoon drops to the kitchen floor.

Damn it.

I grab a bunch of paper towels. Ben gives me a thoughtful glare as he opens the door. I bend to my knees and wipe the floor, looking up at the door.

Joe stands in the threshold, his handsome face frozen and emotionless. A cold feeling runs down my spine as he turns around and looks at me, giving me the exact same smile as Ben’s.

I freeze on the floor. My hand closes over the wooden spoon like it’s a weapon.

Joe’s harsh face turns to Ben. “Get out.”

“But you’ll need help.”

The growl that comes from Joe’s voice scares me. I’ve never heard something so deadly in my life. “I said,
get out
.”

The younger man gives me a look like a dog denied a tasty treat, and exits the apartment. He slams the door and I feel the tremble of the walls shaking through my heart.

“What’s going on?”

Joe says nothing as he walks into the kitchen, but he smiles that unnerving smile. I stand up with the sodden paper towels and spoon, throwing the towels away and tossing the spoon in the sink.

“Nothing’s wrong. Did you make this for me?”

His smile looks strained on his face. He can barely keep it on his lips. The pot bubbles quietly with the sauce as he looks at it. He’s filled with pain that seems to come out of nowhere.

“Well, not just for you. I’m not that selfless.”

It’s a joke. A poor one, but a joke nonetheless. I expect a smile, at least.

Nothing.

Joe reaches over the stove and turns the burner off.

I touch his hand. “But it’s not done!”

“It doesn’t matter.”

The way he says it sounds like nothing matters to him. Coldness spreads under my skin as if my veins are pumped with ice instead of blood.

For a moment we stand there, the ticking of the clock like a bomb. “What does that mean?”

Rough hands circle my neck, his thumbs stroking my sensitive skin. He pulls me in, surrounding me with his protective strength that I’ve come to yearn for. I kiss his chest as his hands trail down my body, anchoring under my ass. I laugh as he picks me up, but the look on his face is no nonsense. I can’t tell if he’s turned on or upset. Maybe a bit of both.

His eyes shine with need. I bend my head, kissing him as he carries me into the bedroom. Joe deposits me on the bed gently and then stands back, looking lost.

“What’s the matter?”

I sit on the edge of the bed and grab ahold of his belt, eager to feel his skin burning under my hands. His hand grips mine and squeezes hard.

I look into his widened eyes.

“I don’t know what to do with you. You weren’t supposed to—I wasn’t supposed to be so into you.”

That makes my heart throb against my chest. If that’s true, why does he sound so upset? He pushes me against the bed and climbs over me, clothes still on. The beat of my heart seems absurdly loud. He places his palm over my stomach and I feel the heavy beat of my aorta jumping into his hand.

The back of my head stings with pain as he grabs a fistful of hair and pulls hard. His lips crash over me, his tongue darting inside. I can taste alcohol on his lips. He tears my shirt off, kissing down my neck, almost biting. The wetness of his mouth sends dizzying jolts of pleasure up my thigh, into the glowing heat between my legs. Fuck, I want him.

Seconds later, he unzips my pants. The very sound makes my pussy clench. Warm fingers dive in. He wastes no time and curves his finger against my clit. I’m already soaking, clenching over the two hard fingers thrusting inside. Oh my God. His mouth closes over my lip and he bites the sensitive flesh.

“Joe.”

“It turns me on when you say my name like that.” He sighs for a moment, fingers thrusting brutally. “You’re so fucking perfect—and mine.”

My fingers rake over his jacket. I wish I were running them over his bare skin. I’m wet all over his hand. He slides out and rubs my clit as I cling to his neck, moaning. I reach down and grab his cock. It’s hard as a rock and his eyes harden. Joe wants me now. The jeans scrape my skin as he tears them off. He rips my panties—the fabric tears as he grabs two edges and yanks. I feel the dampness of his skin through his shirt and my body clenches as cold air stings my wet core. He doesn’t even pull down his pants. I unzip him and he pulls his cock out. It dives right between my legs and he hammers it home as my legs lift over his back.

Fuck
.

I’m so loud. My voice bounces off the walls, ringing in my ears until he silences me with his lips and tongue. The pace that he fucks me with is brutal. I can hardly breathe—can’t dwell on any one thing with him enveloped all around me. There are his fingers, grabbing my tits and pulling my hair so hard it hurts, and then wrapping around my throat. Then, there’s his mouth. He finds a spot and bites, and then another, harder and harder until I yelp with pain, and there are the sounds of us joining together filling my ears, along with his guttural moans and my high-pitched breaths. His cock pounds at me like a piston, brutal in his pace, not stopping for anything. He’s never fucked me like this. It feels desperate.

It’s like there’s a gun to his head.

Then the feeling of him thrusting is all I can think about. All-consuming pleasure snarls my limbs, holding me hostage to this man’s body. He always makes me feel so amazing. Every moment in his presence is like being slightly tipsy. Oh, God. The feeling I get when he holds me. It’s just—incredible. I scream and dig my fingers into his back. He comes hard, digging into me as his cock jerks. His legs shake and he opens his eyes, his face twisted in pain.

What’s wrong?

I’m still lying on the bed, feeling like all my bones are shattered, but he rolls off and sits on the edge of the bed. He leans into his palms. His back still heaves with shaking breaths, and for one extremely shocked moment, I wonder if he’s crying.

Joe irons his face with his hands, his face stretched with a grimace of pain. I sit up, heart pounding.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

His back recoils under my fingers. He stands up while he dresses and stares at me, face indiscernible in the dark. “Come with me.”

He wordlessly stalks out of the bedroom, leaving me stunned. What the hell is going on? Then I grab my t-shirt and pull it over my head, following him out. Back in the kitchen, under the harsh lights, he stands like a terrible, dark God. His hair falls in front of his eyes, which remind me of black tunnels. There’s no emotion on his face, nothing that would explain the anguish he felt in the bedroom.

He pulls a chair out. “Sit.”

Fear starts to prickle through my limbs when I sit down.

Joe does something peculiar—he moves through the house, making sure all the windows are shut. Panic blazes inside me.
Why? Why is he doing that?

My heart knows something that my brain doesn’t. It leaps against my chest, pounding my ribs, as he moves from room to room. I stand in the kitchen, my legs trembling, and I glance towards the door, knowing that I should run, but not sure
why
. I trust him, don’t I?

He enters the kitchen and opens a drawer of knives, grabbing something inside.

Then it all clicks together.

“Joe, how could you?”

Sickened, horrified, I back against the chair and fall backwards, cracking my head on the linoleum. He pounces on me, dead eyes staring ahead as he curls his hands around my shoulder and lifts me up. For once, I don’t feel a thrill from his touch. I just feel cold and empty.

“Please, Joe!”

He forces me into the upright chair, pinning me with one hand as he grabs the roll of duct tape sitting on the table.

“Why are you doing this?
Talk to me!
”

But he won’t even look at me. Every sound in the kitchen is amplified to the thousandth degree. His biting fingers on my body feel like knives.