As my hand slipped into my pocket, he tensed. But upon seeing I’d pulled out a man’s ring and not a weapon, he relaxed a touch.
“This is a gift I prepared for you,” I told him. “Let me put it on you, okay?”
As obedient as a dog, he let go of Judy and held out his hand like someone ready to be led. But in the next instant, I sliced off his ring finger, and it dropped to the floor.
I laughed, loud and unashamed. “Marcus, this is the debt you owe me. I’ll take it back, piece by piece.”
Playing with the dagger, I leaned in close to Judy.
Marcus, who hadn’t cried out even when fingers were cut off before, suddenly panicked and lunged to shield her.
“Don’t touch her!” he shouted. “Melody, don’t make me fight you for real!”
That familiar expression, that familiar tone, it threw me back to the bloody night five years earlier.
When our enemies came for us then, fires raged everywhere, and ten bodyguards in the villa were slaughtered. Only Marcus and I were left. He stood between me and the attackers, red-eyed, then turned and gently covered my eyes.
“Don’t open them. I’m going to take them on. Don’t worry. I’ve got you new IDs. If I die, leave and start over.”
Blood dripped from our fingertips, each drop sounding like a tick against my nerves. He tore a corner from his shirt and bound the wound with practiced hands.
“Melody, don’t force me to hate you.”
That memory overlapped with eight years ago when he’d sliced my fiancé’s legs. He’d told me then, smiling, “Melody, hate me if you must. If you can’t love me, at least let hatred keep me in your heart. I want to remain there, whatever it takes.”
Maybe that was when what we had started to twist and go wrong, a bad beginning destined for a worse end.
Judy fumbled for the gun at Marcus’s waist with trembling hands. “If you hurt Marcus, I swear I’ll never forgive you!”
Pathetic. She couldn’t even pull the trigger.
I stepped forward as she screamed and flailed. In a flash, I struck her wrist, wrested the gun free, and held it to her forehead.
In a snap, she collapsed, shrieking, clutching her head like spoiled flesh.
I smiled with cold mockery. “If you want revenge, know your place.”
Turning to Marcus, I disappointingly commented, “Marcus, your taste is terrible.”
That night, I took the three items home. But Marcus didn’t return to the house, and likely never would.