“I’ll find a way. The only purpose of that company is to provide for you and any other family we ever have. If it doesn’t make the lives of the people I love better, I might as well sell the damn thing.”
She nodded and sobbed again. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her makeup had been smudged everywhere. Seeing her so disheveled and upset made my stomach feel like a bottomless pit.
Finally, she calmed down enough to speak. “Vincent,” she said, her voice small. “I have something to show you.”
My eyes widened. I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. “What’s that?”
She rolled up the sleeves of her green sweater. At first I didn’t know what I was looking for, but then I saw them: several raised pieces of scar tissue in a neat row, each in various shades of pink.
My vision blurred as tears welled up in my eyes. “What are these?” I asked quietly.
“Cigarettes.”
“You don’t smoke.”
“He did. Does. Whatever.” Tears rolled down both her cheeks.
My heart sank as I put together the implication. “He put them out on you?”
She nodded. “In a neat row. Once for every time I pissed him off. So I wouldn’t forget.”
My mouth fell open at the audacity of what I was hearing. “He’s sick. I’m so sorry, Giselle. If I had any idea . . .”
“You didn’t,” she said. “I guess I’m pretty good at covering up, but I just have to show you now so I feel like I’ve come totally clean. I’ve been hiding it for so long.
I blinked and felt a hot tear roll down my cheek. “I’m so sorry.”
She looked down. “He said he would kill me if I told anyone.”
I snapped my jaw shut and flexed my still aching fist. “He said he would kill you?”
She nodded.
My heart was pounding in my chest as I breathed heavily in and out. Could I kill someone who had threatened to kill my sister? How would I get away with it?
“Don’t even think about killing him first,” she said, as if reading my mind.
I snapped out of my plotting. She was staring at me with a very serious expression etched into her features.
“I’m not letting my brother become a murderer.”
“But if it’s him or you—” I started.
“It won’t be. It can’t be,” she said.
I sighed and took her by the shoulders.
“Fine. But know this: you’re the only family I have, and I’m going to protect you no matter what. Even if it costs me my life.”
Chapter Twelve
Kristen
The world was fuzzy. Hues of brown and white swirled like cream being stirred into coffee. I couldn’t make out any details in the forms that swirled in front of me. What had happened to my vision?
My ears were ringing. My body felt like it was being poked by a thousand needles. It hurt to move. I remembered a gun in my hands going off. How long had I been out?
A shadow shifted into view. It grew larger and more defined. The outline was a figure. Someone was approaching me.
I blinked. The picture became sharper. I blinked again then a few more times. I was staring at the ceiling, the fan spinning.
There was a face in the picture. It was still. Eerily still. Staring at me from above. Who was it?
Blue eyes. Brown hair. Thick spectacles.
Marty.
My hearing slowly returned, but Marty vanished from my vision almost as soon as he appeared. I sat up and saw that Vincent was still fighting with him. Vincent barreled into Marty with his shoulder, pushing him back until Marty was cornered against the wall.
Vincent pummeled Marty with his mangled hands but it was clear that Vincent was at a disadvantage. I looked around for the gun but it was nowhere to be found, it must have gotten tossed somewhere around the room in the confusion.
I saw a small hole on the kitchen wall inches from where they had been. I didn’t hit anyone.
When I looked over at them again, Marty was kneeling on top of Vincent, straddling him and repeatedly punching him in the face. “Take that you piece of shit!”
“No, Marty! Stop . . . please stop Marty . . .” I pleaded, tears streaming uncontrollably down my face. He was going to kill Vincent, the man who loved me, the man that I loved.
Marty ignored me, continuing to hit Vincent. Vincent had his broken hands up, trying to defend his face. He seemed so helpless in that position that it sent another knife of sorrow into me.
“Stop Marty! Please stop!” I sobbed.
Marty looked up at me, chest heaving, fists covered in Vincent’s blood. “Stop? Stop?! It’s too late to stop Kristen. You made me do this! This is your fault! Look at what you’ve done!”
This was my fault. My fault. None of this would have happened if Vincent had never met me. I felt sorrow so intense I wanted to vomit. It was because of me that this monster was hurting Vincent. Killing him.