Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Kindra

" D rop the fucking knife!" I yell, and I hate myself for it. Ezra should fall to his death. He deserves it. But I can't let that happen. Despite everything, the urge to save him overrides my need for vengeance.

Especially after hearing him say he loves me and that he's sorry. I don't forgive him, but I still can't watch him die.

The woman stops sawing and turns to me with a sneer. "You should have killed me when you had the chance, you fat cow."

Okay, shots fired.

I pull a throwing knife from my belt and launch it at her chest. She dodges it, just as I hoped she would, which sends her closer to the cliff's edge.

"You throw like a girl," the bitch seethes through gritted teeth.

"Thanks," I say, then launch another knife her way.

This one doesn't miss. It lodges itself in her left shoulder, and the handle's weight knocks her off balance. She realizes her misstep too late. Her eyes widen as rock crumbles beneath her shoes, and she slides over the edge.

As she falls, her intestines snag on a rock. I watch and wait for some comical ending where she's stuck hanging by her entrails, but the thin tissue snaps when she's fully unspooled, and that's the last I see of her. Seconds later, a loud splash breaks the silence.

Ezra pulls himself to the end of the rope, then uses his feet to walk up the side of the cliff until he's standing on a ledge. Using his powerful arms, he then pulls himself onto solid ground and flops onto his back.

"Oh, thank god you were there," he breathes. "If it hadn't been for you, I would have fallen."

Don't fucking remind me.

I turn to walk away, but I hear him getting to his feet behind me. Like a stray dog, he thinks he can follow me home and crawl into my bed. Well, he's about to learn something today.

In one fluid movement, I turn and slide my hand into a pouch on my belt, then launch a throwing star at his feet. "Do not mistake this for something it isn't. I didn't save you because I want to rekindle whatever relation shit you thought you had with me. I never want to see you again."

"Kindra, there's more to this than you realize. Your brother wasn't a good man."

I pull another star from the pouch and fling it toward his nuts. The spinning blades slice the fabric on their way past.

"Don't! Fucking don't, Ezra! I'm done with the lies. For once, can't you just tell the truth? Why did you kill him?"

He runs his hands through his dark hair and pushes his glasses up his nose, then folds his arms over his broad chest. "There is no easy way to break this news to you. I'm sorry. I wanted to have some proof before I told you, which was one of the reasons I wanted to wait until we were back in New York."

"Proof?" I pull another star from the pouch, but I don't throw it. Not yet. "What proof would you have? Are you saying my brother was a rapist?"

Ezra shakes his head.

"Then what? What did he do that was so terrible that he had to die?"

The look in his eyes answers my question.

"No." I shake my head and launch another throwing star at Ezra. It goes wide. I can't aim with all these tears in my eyes, but I try again. And again. "No! He wasn't a child molester! You're lying again! Stop lying to me!"

Like a flailing man on a tightrope, he dodges everything I throw. A star finally slices across his right cheek, but it's not enough. I need him to hurt just as much as he's hurting me.

"My brother was a good man. He taught little league in his free time, for fuck's sake! He mentored underprivileged children and even sponsored a kid who couldn't afford to play in the recreational leagues. And you murdered him, Ezra!"

I clear the tears from my eyes and pull the bowie knife from my thigh. It's weighted differently than my throwing knives, but it's also more final. And I won't miss.

Ezra doesn't move. He doesn't try to get away or overpower me. He just stands there, awaiting his fate as I prepare to toss the blade. I want him to stop me. If he'll just tell me the truth, it doesn't have to be this way.

"Whoa, whoa, let's just calm down."

I recognize Bennett's voice, so I don't need to turn around to know that he's behind me. I keep my eyes trained on Ezra.

"What's the truth, Bennett?" I ask. "You knew about this secret all along, so you must know Ezra's motivation for killing my fucking brother."

"It's just like he told it," Bennett says. "Your brother was the worst kind of awful. Do you know how many kids he hurt?"

I take a deep breath because I don't have enough bowie knives to go around. "None. He didn't hurt kids. He loved them."

"This must be really hard to accept, but you're right about one thing. He loved kids." Bennett pauses, and the slight quiver to his voice makes me do the same. "Loved them right into therapy. He loved one so much that the poor kid tried to kill himself at the age of thirteen."

"We have the proof," Ezra says. "If you can just wait until we get back to New York?—"

"No!" I raise the blade and secure my grip again. "There is no more waiting. This is on my terms, and the only thing I want is the truth."

Gritting my teeth, I prepare to throw the knife, but Bennett gets to me before I can. Powerful biceps pin my arms to my sides, and I'm useless to fight against him. He might be a tad smaller than Ezra, but he's just as strong.

Before I can scream or land a kick against his legs, a sharp pain pierces my thigh and I drop the knife. Did he fucking stab me?

My six-month stint of self-defense classes kick in, and I relax my body. Bennett struggles to grip my dead weight. I slide out of his hold, get to my feet, and dart for the trees. I glance back, but they aren't following me.

Bennett, Ezra, and Maverick stand by and watch as I disappear into the jungle. They probably realize I'm fast too can't...

Huh?

Why are my numb . . . ?

Water. Running water.

That's the first thing I hear as I rise from a thick fog. My mouth feels like a cat shit in it, and pain pounds against my temples.

They fucking drugged me.

I try to sit up, but thin ropes keep me strapped to the bed. I move my hands and discover my wrists have been bound as well. The rope is familiar, and as my hazy mind begins to clear, I realize why.

"Fucking Ezra," I groan.

"He's not here right now," someone says beside me.

I turn my head and try to peer through the shadows. The lights are off and the curtains are drawn, so it's difficult to see much of anything. By the way the bed creaks, I'm fairly certain I'm in a villa.

But whose?

It's not mine. I sprayed my pillows with peppermint oil because it helps me sleep. These pillows smell like expensive cologne, and it's not Ezra's. I also don't recognize the voice, so it's not Bennett beside me, either.

"I've turned off the lights because it will be easier on your eyes," he says. "Would you like me to turn them on now?"

"I would like you to un-fucking-tie me. I'll even give you a five-minute head start before I come after you."

The man chuckles, and a light clicks on. It's Maverick.

"As much as I would love to untie you, I need to talk to you. Bennett figured you wouldn't listen if we didn't strap you down."

"Bennett was right. Where is that sorry son of a bitch and his stupid brother?" I glance around the room, but we're the only ones here.

"They're in Bennett's villa. What I'm about to tell you was news for them as well, and they're trying to process it."

I roll my eyes and consider launching a glob of spit at him because he's clearly in on this. "Whatever you three came up with as a story, I don't want to hear it. I am done listening to lies."

Maverick's shoulders rise in a shrug. "If you don't believe me, that's okay. You wouldn't be the first."

He stands from the chair and steps closer to the bed.

"Do you need to get right up on me when you tell your tale? Personal space," I say, but he only steps closer.

He leans toward my face and pushes the hair away from his forehead. A long white line runs just below his hairline. "Do you see that scar on my forehead?"

I nod.

"Your brother gave me that scar when I tried to fight him off me the first time. I was eight."

Tears fill my eyes. They're taking this lie too fucking far. "This isn't okay," I say. "Children really go through this. It's not a joke, Maverick."

He gives me a wan smile and lets his hair fall. "Fair enough, but my name isn't actually Maverick. I changed my name as soon as I turned eighteen because I never wanted your brother to find me. Until today, I didn't even know he was dead."

"Bullshit."

"My birth name was Landon Rivers. Those sevens on your brother weren't sevens. They were Ls."

"Bullshit!"

This isn't true. None of this is true. My brother was a youth pastor. He...he couldn't have done this.

"It's not ironclad proof, but I have pictures if you'd like to see." Maverick sits on the edge of the bed and holds a phone screen toward my face. "This is me as a kid. My first year on the baseball team, thanks to your brother's generous support. No scar in this picture."

He points to a little boy standing beside my brother. The child is all smiles, with a glove in one hand and a bat in the other. I glance between the older and younger versions of Maverick and find them too similar to discount. They have the same dimples and smile, and they both have a dark freckle right below the outer corner of the left eye.

"Now look at this picture, taken just a month later. Notice anything different?"

Maverick flicks the screen, and another picture pops up. The same little boy stands beside my brother, but he's somehow so different. A smile graces the child's face, but it doesn't reach his eyes, which I now see are green. Beneath his hairline, a long gash peeps through strands of blond hair. My brother's arm firmly wraps around the child's shoulders, and I've never seen a more uncomfortable little boy.

My stomach drops, and I feel as if I'll be sick. How is this possible? How were my mother and I so oblivious?

"I kept these pictures as a reminder," Maverick continues. "They tell a story in two images, but I'm the outcome. I overcame this, and you can too."

Pictures...I remember cleaning out Reese's room after he was murdered. There had been a box beneath his bed, and inside?—

"Do you have a birthmark?" I ask.

Maverick's eyes close, and he nods his head.

"On your?—"

"On my ass, yes."

I thought it had been a photograph of a girl in a compromising position. When I saw it, I was still fairly young and na?ve. I quickly closed the box without taking a closer look, then put the entire thing in the trash.

Now I don't feel like I'll be sick anymore. I know I will be.

"Trash can," I blurt. "Trash can!"

Maverick rushes to the bathroom and hurries back with the small wicker waste basket. He holds it by my head as I violently retch.

All the pain this man has had to carry because of my brother. I can't even fathom what he's been through. And I've made it worse. I've made it so much worse. I defended the monster to his victim.

"I'm so sorry," I sob through dry heaves. "Oh god, Maverick. I'm so sorry."

One by one, he unties the ropes holding me to the bed, releasing my hands first so that I can hold the basket. When I'm free, I sit up and heave once more. I have nothing left in my system, but my body keeps trying.

"It wasn't your fault." Maverick sits on the edge of the bed. "But it wasn't Ezra's fault, either. He didn't know I was the boy he saved all those years ago."

"How could he not know?"

"He's helped a lot of kids over the years. He can't be expected to remember every face. Plus, I changed my name. When I approached him a few years ago, he met Maverick Eaton, not Landon Rivers. Had he known who I was, he would have told you the truth himself. I firmly believe that. He was just so scared of losing you without proof."

"I didn't exactly help things along," Bennett says as he enters the room. "Sorry to barge in, but Ezra was ‘sick with worry.' His words, not mine."

With a sigh, I pat the bed on my right side. "You might as well join the party."

Bennett sits beside me and clears his throat. "I apologize for being so tough on you. It's not easy to feel like I'm losing my brother when I've only known I had a brother for a little over a decade."

"I doubt you have to worry about any of that now," I say. "Ezra probably won't ever talk to me again."

"Is it safe to speak for myself?" Ezra peeks around the doorframe. "Sorry, I was just worried about you. Maverick didn't know how much sleepy juice he'd put in that dart."

"Dart?" I ask.

"Team effort for the hunt," Maverick says. "We thought it would be fun if I darted them with a tranquilizer and Bennett tracked them down and bludgeoned them with the flail. We were right. It was fun."

"Until I ruined it." I cover my face with my hands.

Ezra ushers Bennett out of the way and sits beside me before gently guiding my hands to my lap. "You didn't ruin anything, pet. I'm the one who ruined this. I lied to you. I even planted the meat hooks in Eighties' villa to fool you. If there's any way to make it up to you, I'll do whatever it takes."

"Gross," Bennett says. "If you guys have reached this stage of the makeup, I think it's time Maverick and I take off."

"Agreed," Maverick says as he stands from the bed.

I grip his hand before he can walk away. "Maverick, I meant what I said. I'm sorry I didn't believe you. Victims shouldn't have to defend themselves."

Maverick squeezes my hand and smiles down at me. "No need for apologies. I'm not a victim. I'm a survivor. Killing is my therapy, and it's done wonders. Each time I take out someone like your brother, I feel a little better. You will too. Just give it time."

He doesn't mean to hurt me when he mentions my brother, but fuck. That stings. I try to meld the brother I knew with the monster he was, and I just can't make it work. It still feels like they're talking about someone else.

But the pictures don't lie. My brother was sick, and Ezra was right to kill him.

Ezra and I don't speak, even once the villa's front door closes and I hear the men retreating down the boardwalk. We sit in silence when we both have so much we need to say. I just don't know how to begin.

My chin begins to shake, and I close my eyes as a confusing mix of emotions buries me under their weight. I can't breathe. Shame, regret, grief, and intense heartbreak press against my chest until my lungs buckle.

Ezra pulls me into him, and I don't fight against his touch. "Can you ever forgive me for lying to you?" he asks.

"I could have made it a lot easier to tell the truth."

He places a kiss on the top of my head and strokes my hair. "You make everything easy, especially loving you. The deception is my fault and my fault alone. I suppose if I have anything to forgive you for, it's the new scar I'll bear on my cheek."

"Oh, shit! I completely forgot." I sit up and turn his face so that I can see the thin red line my throwing star gouged into his perfect flesh. It's fairly superficial, which relieves some of my regret.

"Chicks dig scars, right?" he says with a chuckle. "Though I'm only concerned with your opinion. What do you think? Do I pass muster?"

He's asking so much more than what he presents on the surface. He's asking if I can move past this. He's asking if we can still live in the fantasy we created in our minds before reality dealt us a huge blow.

And I have the answer.

"Yes, you pass muster. Now please kiss me."

As his lips press against mine, it feels like our first kiss all over again. Now that we know each other's secrets, now that we have everything out in the open, this is our first kiss.

But it won't be our last.