Page 33 of Accept Me (Fate’s Choice #4)

Then I remotely unlocked my car, crouched low beneath the drooping branches of a tree, scanning the street until it went silent and empty, and only then did I dart out, pop the trunk, and shove him inside.

There was a kind of grim irony in the act, considering Dino had tried to kidnap Star in almost the exact same way. The Matryoshka vibe again?

The only difference was, I succeeded.

I climbed into the driver’s seat, adrenaline coursing through every vein, my hands tingling on the wheel. I knew exactly where I had to go, and how to get there in a way that would leave me an extra layer of alibi.

There were cliffs outside the city, steep and dangerous, and that was where I headed, winding along the back roads.

About ten minutes from the spot, I heard him groaning and pounding faintly against the inside of the trunk, but by then the road was deserted, no towns, no hikers, no cars.

I didn’t bother with the tourist pull-offs along the way. Instead, I turned off onto a narrow forest track, overgrown and choked with branches, and forced the car deeper until it was hidden, the silhouette completely obscured from the view of the main road.

For a moment, I just sat there, both hands resting on the steering wheel, listening to the muffled noises Nash made from the trunk.

Around me was nothing but a wall of leaves, thick enough that I couldn’t see more than a few feet.

I forced the driver’s door open against the bushes that pressed it shut, slid out quietly, and circled the car.

Then, calmly, I lifted the trunk.

Even under the dim canopy of the thicket, I think he could see my face well enough to recognize me. I kept it perfectly neutral, giving him nothing.

I was curious about his reaction. If he truly had nothing to do with Dino, then he had no reason to know me. But if he had watched me through the eyes of that mechanical cat, then he would recognize me instantly, and I’d see it in his eyes.

And I did. Our gazes locked, and I caught that flicker, that instant when recognition hit him, followed by the mental calculation: do I admit I know who you are, and damn myself, or do I pretend I’m clueless and play dumb?

I stared at him without so much as a twitch, my mask perfectly nailed into place.

I saw right away which choice he made.

"What the hell do you want from me, you psycho? You don’t even know who you’re messing with, I’m a cop!"

The thought of playing with him, letting it become a psychological game, appealed to me.

I didn’t answer.

With a harsh jerk, I dragged him out of the trunk and spun him around, pulling a nylon rope through the plastic tie around his wrists, freeing his legs with a quick slice of the blade.

Then I pulled out the baseball bat, a notebook, a pen, and a voice recorder, which I switched on immediately and tucked into the front pocket of my jacket so it would pick up everything. I also grabbed the folding shovel I’d stowed there.

I yanked Nash upright and pushed him forward toward the gentle slope that led up to the ridge of the cliffs.

"You sick bastard, you’ll regret the day you were born! My brothers are cops, they’ll never stop hunting you, you son of a bitch!"

He spat the words, venom in his voice, but I gave him nothing.

Absolute silence. I had no interest in bargaining, no reason to reassure him, no chance of being convinced to change course; this was already written.

In my eyes, he had not only planted the explosives inside that cat, but he had also hurt Star, and that was a crime I could never forgive.

So we walked in silence, his curses and threats breaking the stillness now and then, his questions hanging unanswered: where are you taking me, what do you want, what’s your plan?

I ignored it all. The forest was already sliding into dusk, the air cooler, emptier, the world reduced to just our footsteps.

For a while, we climbed without speaking, and I could feel the pressure building inside him, the growing awareness that this wasn’t ending well for him.

"You’re going to kill me, aren’t you? I never did anything to you! You’re just some kind of freak!"

I still didn’t answer. When he slowed, I jabbed the bat into his back, forcing him forward.

I knew exactly how silence like this could twist inside a man’s skull. He had to wrestle with the choice: admit he knew who I was, and be finished, or keep pretending he was innocent and hope it saved him.

The closer we got to the summit, the rougher his breathing became, and I knew it wasn’t just the climb; it was the realization sinking in, the understanding that his life was slipping away with every step.

For the last fifteen minutes of the ascent, he didn’t speak at all.

And that told me everything. If he were truly innocent, those final minutes would have been his magnum opus: screams, begging, frantic denials, prayers. Instead, he kept his mouth shut. Which only confirmed what I already knew.

We reached the top in total silence.

The view was staggering, I had to admit. One of the highest points in the region, overlooking the vast ocean.

Beneath the cliff lay jagged rocks and the restless surf, the kind of fall that would smash a man’s body to pieces before the waves slowly pulled it apart and dragged it under.

It was the perfect place to make sure no one ever discovered that before his fall, he had been knocked unconscious with brass knuckles to the temple.

But I hadn’t yet decided if that was how I wanted to finish it. That would depend on a few more things.

I kept up with the mind game I’d been playing with him, because so much depended on it.

I raised the knife in one hand and lifted the baseball in the other.

"Choose your death," I said flatly.

His eyes darted between my hands.

"This isn’t gonna be the cliff?" he asked, like the question alone might give him a chance to live.

I stayed silent, showing him the two tools.

At last, with some hesitation, he pointed toward the knife.

"Think about it," I warned, "the knife means that your genitals will be cut off and you will bleed to death, the baseball means that you will be raped long enough that your intestines will bleed internally…"

Of course, he didn't know that this wasn't my initial plan. I wanted to kill him, yes, but not necessarily in this way.

Nevertheless, I devoted myself to the little game of cat and mouse and kept my face as still as carved stone. However, his did change; he became ghostly pale, and his forehead sweated even more.

I nodded toward the shovel.

"Start digging. I don’t have all night."

For a moment he stared straight into my eyes, testing whether I was deadly serious.

"You’re fucking insane. I’m an innocent man, I served the public!"

"So why were you kicked off the force?" I asked.

"Petty conflicts at the precinct, nothing more," he shot back instantly, like the answer was preloaded.

"And rumor has it a few detainees accused you of sexual misconduct… But suuuure, I believe you. Now get to work."

He glanced at the shovel, then at his bound hands.

"My hands are tied."

"That doesn’t stop you. Grip the handle from the front, push down with your foot. Think of it this way: I’m literally giving you a weapon, a chance to take a swing at me. Don’t you want to try?"

"You’re twenty years younger than me. My odds aren’t great."

"But I’m a programmer. I don’t know shit about fighting. Maybe I couldn’t handle you," I said in total calm.

He barked a laugh. "Yeah, sure, a programmer."

"Oh? You doubt it? We’ve never met. I’m just an ordinary programmer, who picked you completely at random.

I decided I had to know what a murderer feels, and the more innocent the victim, the purer, the less stained, the more ontological weight the act carries.

Because killing the truly innocent, the spotless, that’s where the deepest satisfaction lies.

Don’t you agree?" I asked, fixing my eyes on him with almost crazy intensity.

He faltered for a fraction of a second. Did he read between the lines? Who knows.

"Absolutely not, that’s sick."

"Oh, really? So you’re saying… someone who thinks like that is sick? What’s wrong with that person? What lurks in such a person’s soul that they’d want to hurt an innocent man?" I asked, low and controlled, still boring into him with my gaze.

"I have no idea," he muttered, eyes shifting to his hands on the shovel.

Then I saw it: the slight adjustment, the grip sliding lower, the angle shifting. He was lining up the swing.

"Go ahead, Doug. Try me," I said with a cold smile.

He twitched. "I thought I was just some random guy. So how do you know my name?"

"Lucky guess. You just look like a Doug."

"Bullshit. Stop the game." His tone was flat, hard, his fingers clutching the shovel more tightly.

I sneered. "Start digging, Doug. I’m not wasting my night here."

But he wasn’t going to make it easy.

"No. I won’t dig my own grave."

I stepped toward him, and he tensed. I yanked the shovel from his hands and tossed it aside, jerking his body in the process, he swayed but didn’t fall. Now we were face-to-face, neither one flinching.

Nash narrowed his eyes, something vile flickering there. "You’re scared, boy, aren’t you? You’ve never done this before, you’ve never hurt the innocent."

"You’re absolutely right, Doug. I have never hurt the innocent ," I emphasized the last word with a kind of relish, savoring each syllable.

We locked eyes, measuring each other, neither of us wavering.

"Stop playing this game and tell me what it is you actually want from me," he growled.

"I’ll tell you if you say my name."

"I don’t know your name. I don’t know who you are or what you want."

"I’ll let you live, if you tell me my name."

"I don’t believe you."

"Why not?"

He gave a dry, bitter laugh. "I was a cop. I know this: if someone comes with a plan and all the tools, he doesn’t hesitate. And I’ve seen your face. That means you can’t let me live, no matter what I do, no matter what I say."