Page 113 of Grace

I don’t remember how we got out without anyone noticing, our clothes smeared with blood and bits of brain. But then we’re in the car, driving south. We make a small detour before spending the night in a motel.

I thought we’d meet Lucas or one of his men in some remote, dark, eerie place. Instead, we’re rattling down a bumpy dirt road dotted with tufts of grass, going nowhere. The car shakes me like an angry washing machine.

“Why did we come here?” I ask, glancing at the man beside me. He shifts into park, then kills the engine. He doesn’t answer—just stares into the distance. I follow his gaze, and the moment sweeps me so completely my mind goes blank. I get out of the car without thinking about the danger. I don’t wait for him to check whether the area is safe.

My feet stumble clumsily through the clearing. The moon hangs in the sky, spilling silvery light across the ground. The night is cold, yet everything is bright. Exhaustion and adrenaline make me tremble, but they don’t stop me.

“Slow down!” He catches my hand. “The trail leads to a drop-off.”

I swallow, a thrill rushing through me, then wipe my sweaty palms on my trousers. We walk to the edge of the drop-off in slow steps, hand in hand. A swing stands there—alone, forlorn. I feel at home in this solitude, in the cold jaws of death.

“You used to like swings.”

The garden swing hangs from an iron frame on chains. The seat and backrest are made of rough, unfinished wood. This swing wasn’t built to be comfortable—or to give pleasure.

It was made for people who yearn for solitude, who feel alone in the world, who want to marvel at the uplifting moment of death.

“I used to,” I admit softly. “With my parents, in our garden. This hurts, Chase. It hurts to think about it.”

He sits down and pulls me with him. I don’t resist—I straddle him. I fist my fingers in his shirt and bury my flushed face in his neck. The swing starts moving with a creak. I press closer, chasing his warmth.

“Why don’t we talk about it? Why do we pretend like nothing happened?”

“Talk about what?”

“Everything. Why didn’t you tell me they were dead?”

“I didn’t want to break you any more than you already were.”

“You thought I’d never get out.”

“Yeah.”

I rest my head on his shoulder as silent tears run down my face.

“I miss them so much. When I ran away, I thought they were still alive, waiting for me. But no one was. I had to move into an old farmhouse full of mice. My siblings were living in filth. We were cast aside by a bitter life.”

“We were angry and disappointed. Then one day Bobby Delgado showed up with his gang. Nikky was in love with him, but she wasn’t enough for him. Nikky didn’t believe me. She shoved me straight into his jaws. They were the ones stealing Jamie’s dope—Lucas’s dope—and Lucas shot Jamie right in front of me. Even though it wasn’t Jamie’s fault.”

I stop for a moment—the memories are tearing me apart.

The silence drags on.

This sticky darkness, this quiet emptiness—it feels like the calm before a storm, when the world goes silent for a second and the dark sky presses down, smothering my bleeding heart in the pain of the past.

“That’s why you went after them that day, isn’t it? You were in touch.”

“After Lucas found them, he put them on his payroll. I hadn’t met Bobby Delgado until that evening. Lucas sent them far away for a while, to keep them out of sight. When they found you—that’s when the pieces snapped into place. I knew someone had beaten you, humiliated you, and defiled you, but back then Lucas kept me on a tight leash. I couldn’t go looking for them.”

“Nikky… So is Nikky still working for your brother?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know what’s the worst part?” I look deep into his eyes. “The fact that I’m not afraid of you, Baker.”

“Because you know I’d never hurt you.”

I press my index finger to his lips.