The breath freezes in my lungs, my heart faltering from where it beats against my chest.
Cousins means that he’s my uncle’s child.
But my uncle didn’t have any children.
“Impossible,” I say.
“Improbable. But it’s the truth.” Smee shakes his head. “I was there the night you killed my father.”
My brows rise, surprise flickering through me as I think back on the night I took my uncle’s life. I was in a bit of a rage, so I suppose it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that someone was looking in.
I glance behind Smee, to where Wendy is looking around, her arms moving as if she’s trying to free herself from constraints. Peter stands in the corner, but his eyes are locked on me, his face pinched and his eyes hard.
“You’ll meet him again soon enough,” I reply. Lunging forward, my blade is at his throat in a matter of seconds. “It’s very stupid of you to bring me here, thinking you would make it out alive.”
He laughs, his Adam’s apple pressing against the hooked edge. “You’ve always overestimated your own importance. It’s what made it so easy to come into your life; pretending to be homeless as I sat next to the bar where you work.” He grins. “It’s also why it was so easy to sway people to work for me instead.”
My knife presses deeper into his skin. “My people are loyal to me.”
“Your people are afraid of you.” His eyes flash. “But I didn’t go after them. I found the ones who were wronged. And when I told them that I would bring you to justice, taking over and treating them right… well.” He smirks. “It was easy after that.”
“It’s a shame,” I say. “I tried so hard to keep you from this life.” A dull throb smarts against my insides. “I won’t enjoy killing you.”
“I wouldn’t kill him at all, if I were you.” Heat surges through my blood as my eyes meet Starkey, red stains covering his shirt, and a bruise swelling on the side of his face—I’m assuming from the twins. I would say I feel betrayed, but the truth is, with Starkey, I should have known.
However, none of that matters, because all I can focus on now is the fact he has his gun pressed to Wendy’s temple, his finger poised and ready on the trigger. My eyes soak her in, trailing along her person to see if she’s been hurt again. But she seems okay. Her jaw is stiff, and she’s glaring at her father.
“Sammy.” Peter straightens from where he’s leaned against the cave wall, pulling his own gun from his waist. “This was not part of the plan.”
Smee’s head twists from where it’s still pressed against my knife. “Plans change, Peter. I told you the only way to get James to heel was to put her in danger. You knew the risks, and you agreed.”
Wendy’s eyes widen, her mouth parting on a gasp. “You what?”
“Hello, darling,” I cut in, my gaze flicking to Starkey. “It’s extremely wonderful to hear you speak. Are you alright?”
Her eyes soften. “You mean besides the gun to my head?”
I smirk, and Starkey’s body stiffens, his hand moving the barrel before pressing it under her jaw. “This isn’t a fucking joke,” he seethes. “Let Croc go.”
Wendy winces as Starkey pushes his pistol into her chin, and a shot of fear surges through my insides.
Her eyes widen as she locks her gaze on mine. “James. No.”
Starkey snaps, his hand ripping open her jaw and shoving the gun in her mouth.
Rage consumes me, and a terror like I’ve never known follows close behind. Because as much as I would love to pry the skin off of Starkey’s body and break every bone for thinking he could touch her—I’m halfway across the room.
And I’m not willing to risk her life on the off chance he’s bluffing, when I know deep down, he’s not.
Licking my lips, my fingers tighten around the handle before I step back, raising my palms in the air, the knife clattering to the ground.
Smee grins, immediately swooping down to pick it up. He flips it over a few times in his hands, his eyes soaking in every detail. Looking back up at me, he points the tip of the blade in my direction. “Any other weapons I should know about?” He glances behind him to where Wendy sits, her cheeks wet, Starkey’s gun still held inside her mouth. I reach behind my back, pulling out my pistol and dropping it to the floor.
Laughing, Smee turns to Peter and claps his hands. “What did I tell you, Pete? The boy is in love.” He sighs, looking back at me, reaching in his pocket and pulling out something bulky, covered in a cloth. Slowly, he starts to unwind the fabric. “To muffle the noise.” He winks. “For dramatic effect.”
The cloth drops to the ground and with it, my mind does as well.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
My fists clench at my sides.
Smee holds up a glass pocket watch, his grin so wide it touches his cheeks. “Do you like my new toy? It’s almost as loud as the one you made me throw overboard the other day.” He chuckles, shaking his head.
My lungs squeeze tight at the noise, flashes of crocodile boots and the clicking of locked doors flashing inside my mind, making my chest rip open, my memories being flayed and sliced into fresh wounds.
He walks toward me until the tips of his shoes meet mine, bringing the watch up, and pressing it to my ear. “Do you know how difficult it is to find a watch that actually ticks? The one I used to have was special. It was just like my father’s.” He frowns. “But I needed to make sure that what Starkey told me was true.”
My hands fly to my head, trying to drown out the noise, my nerve endings clawing at my skin like a thousand bugs, desperate to escape. Red starts to soak into my vision, the haze bringing rage and shame—a volatile mix that constantly lives inside me. My palms shoot out, gripping Smee’s shirt in my hands, balling the fabric and lifting until his feet barely touch the ground.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he sings. “You hurt me, and he’ll kill her.”
Immediately, I release him, my heart slamming against my ribs as I fight the manic thoughts. I briefly consider grabbing my knife from his hand and trying to cut off my ears; anything to stop the torment.
He moves away, the ticking becoming slightly less intense before his arm comes swinging back, the glass face smashing into my cheek, my body slamming into the ground as an aching sting spreads up my jaw. He crouches down, dangling my knife between his knees. “I was there the night you killed my father,” he whispers. “I watched you through the windows as you took this knife.” He lifts it up to my face, tracing it down my body before jamming it into my side, deep. “And bled him out on the floor.”
Searing pain flares through my torso as he twists the handle, my teeth gritting against the burn.
“Do you regret it?” he asks.
My face is on the dirt floor, but I turn my head just enough so he can see me grin. “I’d kill him a thousand times over and force you to watch every one.”
He pulls the knife from my side, blood spurting from the wound and soaking my shirt, my skin growing clammy.
“He was supposed to be mine,” he says. “He promised he would take me in as soon as you were gone. He was going to send you away, but then suddenly changed his mind.” The blunt edge of the handle cracks against my cheek. “So, I waited… three years for you to turn eighteen, and then you fucked everything up.”
Copper pools in my mouth and I spit on the ground, pushing up until I’m sitting, my head growing fuzzy from the sudden movement. I lean back on the wall, my hand immediately pressing against my side to try and staunch the bleeding. “I did you a favor.”
“You took everything from me!” he screeches. “So, I’ll take everything from you.”
Although I’m sure he meant for his words to inspire fear, they only bring realization. Because I have thought that exact same phrase. Imagined it a thousand different ways as I visualized my final words to Peter. A laugh bubbles up my throat, the pain in my side twinging; although it’s nothing compared to the devastating truth, that Smee is just like me.
And to him, I’m just like Peter.
“You want my life?” I cough, blood bubbling in the back of my throat. “All you had to do was ask. It’s yours.”
Smee’s brows turn down. “That’s not good enough.” He stalks toward me, bending down until his face is directly in front of mine. “I want to see the look on your face as I kill the only person who would show you love.”
He’s talking of Wendy. Of course, it’s her. Because life is full circle, and it’s only fitting that he would take from me what I longed to take from Peter.
Pop. Pop.
My heart thumps in my chest as the gunshots ring out, my stomach clamping as my eyes swing to Wendy in fear.
No. Not her. Anyone but her.
Relief pours through my veins when I see she’s fine, the gun gone from her mouth, her eyes wide as she stares at the crumpled form of Starkey, dead at her feet.
Another pop rings through the air, Peter steps forward as he shoots Smee in the back of the head, and he too drops to the ground.
I don’t feel satisfaction from his death. I understand all too well the all-consuming rage of seeking vengeance. How it bleeds into your pores and poisons your blood until you can’t think of anything but seeking revenge. I only hope that in death, he finds peace.
“Morons,” Peter mutters, walking over and untying Wendy. “Tina, you can come out now.”
Tina stands from where she was crouching behind a large rock, hiding this whole time. I cringe as I stand, my hand pressing against my side, the burn radiating through my torso. My feet stumble from the way dizziness overtakes me, but I breathe deep, trying to keep my eyes focused.
“Your name is James Barrie?” Peter asks, tilting his head.
“It is,” I reply.
I have imagined this moment for years—of the look that would cross Peter’s face as he realizes just who I am. But now, I only feel hollow. I force my feet to move as I walk toward my knife, grunting from the pain of bending to pick it up, a gush of fresh blood spurting from my wound and seeping through my shirt. I’m not sure how deep the puncture is, but my body is becoming chilled, and I’m sure I’m losing more blood than what anyone would deem a reasonable amount.
“You look just like your father,” Peter continues. “And your brother looks like you.”
