38. Fiora

Marco's grip is so tight on my wrist I can barely feel my fingers.

The parking garage is empty. Nothing's around but excavators and cigarette butts. Half of the structure is already bulldozed, but the other half remains standing. Marco drags me up the broken staircase, not bothering to stop whenever I trip on a loose rock or knock a body part against the sharp turns. Why would he? He's already battered and bruised me. What're another few bruises and scratches?

When we first pulled up, I allowed myself the smallest bit of hope. Excavators meant construction workers. Well, it should have, but it means shit now. The lot is completely abandoned for the weekend. Just my luck. I'm sure Marco had something to do with it. Now I'm stuck biding my time, searching for the best escape route. Kind of hard to do when your throat aches from choking and your head pounds from a solid beating. Still, I won't go down without a fight.

I refuse to die here without taking Marco with me.

Once we hit the garage's top floor and reach open air again, Marco jerks me forward so that I fall onto my knees. I hiss at the pain but ignore it. When I turn onto my butt to face him, Marco is smirking.

"You know, your entire family is fucking stupid."

It's the first thing he's said to me since he took off down the highway, using the police siren to make a getaway.

"Sure, but we aren't the only ones," I spit, crawling away as best I can. There's not much room. Since half the damn building is gone, the only place I can go is the edge. "Do you really think you'll get away with this?"

"I got away with Mason, didn't I?" His smile is… unhinged. It's the only word that comes to mind. He's a madman on the last thread of his rope, and every step he takes toward me sounds like a hammer nailing my coffin shut. "All you have to do is pull a few strings. Your father taught me that, actually. Throw some money at people or give them what they want, and they'll do your bidding."

Marco laughs, nudging his boot at my sneaker. I jerk away my leg, crawling back another few feet. I'm so close to the edge of the broken parking garage that I won't be able to go much further. I must keep him talking, make sure he blabs long enough so I have time to think.

"And whose strings did you pull for Mason, huh?"

"Losers with criminal records are easy to bribe." He shrugs, flicking a few pieces of misplaced hair out of his eyes. Hey, at least if I die, I have a few strands of his hair in my pocket. He won't be getting away with both of our murders. It's a sad price to pay for trusting the wrong person, I guess.

I push him away with all my might, but he barely goes anywhere. He laughs at my attempt, a hearty little chuckle that shows how pitiful he finds me. When Marco backs off, I scramble to my feet and back away from the edge. There's another set of stairs behind me. If I can slowly inch that way, I might be able to make a break for it. Maybe grab a piece of concrete I can use to knock Marco over the head. I need to find the right moment.

"What do you want?"

"That's so cliché," Marco tsks. He takes another cigarette out of his front pocket and lights it. I inch toward the rear stairs when he takes a long drag but stops when his eyes land on me. "I thought you'd do better than some petty criminals, but I guess all you shady Godwin assholes are the same."

"And all you fame-hungry assholes are the same," I hiss. "Using the Godwin name for your own gain. Just so you can get some promotion."

"Dream bigger, Fiora. Washington is just one state. Imagine what the arrest of Hector Godwin could do for my name and career. Senator Pollozo has a good ring to it, doesn't it?"

I laugh. It hurts thanks to my aching throat, but I can't help it. The thought is ridiculous. Sure, most senators are complete asshats with muddy backgrounds, but murder? That's a new one.

"You know," Marco chides, clicking his tongue as he starts stalking toward me again. "It would have been a lot easier if Mason had listened to my proposal."

Marco's confession confirms my earlier suspicion. Marco was the one bugging Mason before his death. God, it's all so obvious now. How could I have missed it?

"Your proposition must have been shit then."

Marco's frown is sour, his words laced with heat. "He wanted your father out of the picture just as much as I did. We could have made a good team."

Does Marco expect me to believe that shit?

"That… that doesn't make any sense."

"Aw, does the truth sting, Fiora?"

Marco lunges in my direction, and I yell, taking another step closer to the edge. He laughs and laughs like it's a funny joke, but my heart beats so hard I feel faint. Fuck. He's cornering me toward the edge of the parking garage again. Is that his plan? Make me jump? Push me off?

"Don't you think he was tired being under Daddy's shadow? You were the coward to run away. He was the one who had to stay and face the man. And we could have made a good team. But your stupid brother refused." Marco takes on Mason's baritone when he repeats, "My dad might trust you enough, but I don't. Get the fuck away from my sister. I know what you're doing, you pathetic little bitch, and I won't let you have her." He scoffs, pointing at me. "You know what I did after that? I went home and asked you for a sexy pic. And you fucking sent me one. You sent me one! So really, who is the pathetic one here?"

Mason knew? Fuck, he knew. He knew Marco was a piece of shit and protected me as long as he could. It wasn't Papa who denied our relationship, but Mason. And how did I repay him? I ran off to Heathens Hollow without telling anyone.

But that guilt I've felt since I learned of my brother's demise morphs into red hot, blinding anger. What do I have to be guilty for? It's Marco's fault Mason is gone. All this time I've been blaming myself, and for what? If I attended that game with him, I wouldn't be here to figure out the truth. Marco would go on a free man, using our murders as a stepping-stone to further his career.

There's a reason I'm still alive, and it's to make sure Mason gets his revenge.

Gravel crunches somewhere below us, and when Marco turns to look, I take my chance. I sprint toward the stairs behind me as fast as I can. Freedom is right at my fingertips, but I don't make it into the stairwell before Marco grips my hair. My scalp screams when he jerks me back, and I collide with his chest with a painful grunt. He wraps his arm around my neck and squeezes so tightly that I choke. I scratch at his arms, flailing and fighting for my life, but it's no use.

"Oh, come on, Fiora." His rough voice next to my ear makes me shiver. "I'm trying to have a conversation here."

"I'm not," I gasp, clutching onto his sleeve and tugging so I can get some air. My head hurts so badly, and it's barely enough to breathe, but I'm not dead yet.

"Well, if that's the case."

Marco drags me toward the edge of the parking garage, cool autumn wind whipping at my cheeks. God, is this the end for me? It's a shitty end if so. Thrown off the edge of an abandoned parking garage to rot all weekend before being found. All because I trusted—and frankly loved—the wrong person for years. Tears burn my eyes, cascading down my cheeks as I stare down death. I always knew death would come for me early, but I'm not ready to die at this asshole's hand.

"You won't get away with this," I try next as my last resort. "My DNA is all over your car." Under my fingernails and in my pocket, too.

"See, that's the thing, Fiora. I will. Because I'm not killing you. You're killing yourself."

"What?"

Marco jerks me forward, nearly dangling me off the side of the garage. It looks so far down. I'm dizzy with the height and slow supply of oxygen. There isn't a soft place to land anywhere. It's all jagged concrete, broken pieces of flooring and piping, and so much gravel. God, it's going to hurt. Maybe the Devil will have mercy on me and kill me in one go.

"Grief is a very strong emotion," Marco muses. "Between announcing an engagement you don't want and losing your brother, it was too tough on you. You couldn't bear it anymore. I tried to stop you, I really did. But you fought me so hard, I had to pull over here, and by then, it was too late."

Fuck me, he has the perfect coverup story already. And with no evidence to push back against his bullshit story, he's going to get away with it. How long has he been planning this? I struggle against him even harder, but his arm only tightens, cutting off my air for good.

"See how easy it is? You should thank me, you know. I saved you from?—"

I don't know what the fuck he "saved" me from, because his sentence is cut off with a pained grunt. We both go flying to the concrete, and someone elbows me so hard in the stomach I'm breathless. One of my legs hangs off the edge of the parking garage, and I push myself back, gasping and sputtering for breath. My lungs and throat burn, vision fuzzy from the lack of oxygen.

Two shadows roll around on the ground next to me, moving so fast I can't tell who is who. Is it Braken? Has Braken come for me? When I catch my breath and my eyes focus, I look up to see who it is.

Too late.

The gunshot cuts the air, and warm blood splatters all over my face and neck.