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People appeared from thin air to ask for loans. They'd beg on their knees, and if that didn't work, they'd get mean. Every friend, old or new, became greedy. I understand the reason my father began to twist and change, his demons rising from their darkest depths.

“Yes, I get it,” I whisper. Gently I take his wrist, push it from my face. The sunlight casts more shadows through the stairs on both of us. My arm is covered in stripes. So is his. I turn, heading away from Dez.

“Where are you going?” he asks in a hard tone.

Putting my palm on the handle of the poker hall's door, I steady myself. I must be composed. There can be no cracks. Not even small ones. With a cheerful smile, I glance at Dezmond. My voice is so sweet it would put a bowl of honey to shame. “I need to let Alemo know that your fiancée will be taking care of your debt.”

He perks up with a pleased grin. Why wouldn't he be happy? The man has spent his life gambling, I'm a golden goose in his ravenous eyes. Marrying me is the winning streak he swore was on its way after every failed bet—and as far as the law is concerned, a ring on my finger makes everything I own become his.

I'm a vision of serenity. It's not hard to act calm, not anymore. Earlier, I was terrified about how I'd get out of this mess. There were too many unknowns. Dez pushed me into a corner until my choices were narrowed down to one.

He's right. He can't trust me.

Paperwork guides the law, but only death gets the final word.

Chapter 7

DezisgonewhenI walk back out into the sunshine. I'm wondering if he ran off to the strip club or the Denny's when my phone vibrates. One look at the screen and I cringe.

Mom: Are you okay? You've been gone over an hour.

“Shit,” I hiss, sprinting across the street, avoiding the cars that honk angrily, and reach my vehicle. I lost track of time while handling Dezmond. Buckling myself in safely, I type a fast response.

Me: Sorry!!! Got stuck waiting for the check. I'll do fast food next time.

Lying should feel worse. I hope I'm not getting used to it. One more message pops up before I get my engine going.

Mom: It's ok! I just need your help, the parade is tomorrow, remember?

A full body shudder goes through me.Yeah, I know,I think grimly. My mom is stressing for different reasons than I am.If I don't get rid of him before he proposes in front of the whole damn town, everything is going to become so much harder.

Dez must die.

And he has to do it before people know we're engaged. He laid it out for me so clearly—to the point I should thank him—that the proposal is his safety net. If I kill him before the parade, I can slip out of his trap.

My eyes dart to my mirror. I see myself, but I don't recognize the expression in my face. The clarity in my eyes pales next to the predatory gleam; how an animal looks when it’s stalking its prey just before it attacks.

Quickly I stare at my steering wheel. My hands are white, knuckles shiny from squeezing too hard. Will I recognize myself again after I kill Dezmond?

Doesn't matter.I take my foot off the brake, reverse, head into traffic.I don't have a choice. He's put me in this spot. I must do this, or my future … my world … everything will be taken away from me.

I keep this in my thoughts as I return to Windy Gardens. From afar I watch myself enter the shop, hug my mother, apologize again for taking so long. She smiles, laughs, teases me between carefully packaging flowers for the line that goes out the door. Her bliss is what guides me. Her safety is my purpose. She's a part of my body that lives outside of me, and this feeling is greater than love.

Dez should have kept his secret to himself.

I can still keep mine.

Pulling up my phone, I google around. It's way too easy to find Dezmond's address in Crestwind. Just searching his name shows me the number of arrests he's had. I read the information with intent, a justification for what I’m planning. Dezmond has over ten drug arrests, twenty reckless driving, one armed robbery and four assault charges. I don't have access to the gritty details, but this is plenty.

Dezmond is a menace. He won't be mourned.

Killing him is doing the world a favor.

Does his dad feel that way?

Oh, I do not like that new thought. I smother it and rush out of the store. It's a wonder I remember to lock it behind me; I'm on autopilot, my brain is elsewhere. Hopping into my car with Dez's address in my phone to guide me, I drive east where the ocean waits.

I've been this way before. The beaches here are rockier than the ones where the parade will end on the opposite side of town. The waves hit harder, break louder, and that power means they deposit all sorts of beautiful sea glass on the shore.