Page 107 of Collateral Claim

The childlike instinct to let a parent I trust save me makes me grasp it. He pulls me, and I fall, scraping my knee. When I come up from under the table, I see that Massio is lying on the floor, bleeding from the hole between his eyes. Wilfred and my dad run and pull me with them.

A smoke bomb explodes. I can’t hear anything, least of all that little voice of reason telling me these are the men I should be running from.

Chapter 43

Wrong direction

Scarlett

The next half hour is a blur of activity. My dad’s grip on my hand tightens as he pulls me toward a black SUV with tinted windows. Men dressed in dark tactical uniforms open the back door, and we load inside.

Wilfred sits on my right. The doors slam, the tires screech, and the car takes off down a road different from the one we came in on.

We enter a tunnel.

“Are you okay?” my dad asks from my left.

“No.”

Wilfred places his hand over mine. I don’t know why I let him comfort me, but I do. Maybe I’m all out of my fight juice. Maybe it’s because my slacks tore when I scraped my knee hard. Blood coats my pants. The fabric sticks to the wound, and I know that the moment the adrenaline wears off, it’ll hurt.

But I’m not tending to it.

Why am I not tending to it?

I’m pretty sure it’s because of what my dad said to me at the luncheon. He suggested my mother had manipulated me into going to med school. He suggested my mother lied to me. “Was what you said about Mom true?” I ask, my voice quivering.

“Yes. She didn’t think you’d make a good wife. Med school was a better choice. She made up a story of rebellion and cause. It worked. You are a great doctor.”

I never wanted to marry. Did she tell me that, or did I decide that? How can I not tell? Did she condition me somehow? Oh my God. My therapist isn’t strong enough for this. I will need a better therapist. Do I want to know the truth?

“It’s okay, Scarlett. It’s over now,” my dad says, clearly trying to comfort me, thinking I held back a sob because of all that happened at lunch. While a shoot-out is definitely stressful, that’s not what’s happening inside my head. I’m unraveling because my entire life was a lie. My mother lied to me, and I built my life around what she told me. I trusted every word out of her mouth.

Wait, is my dad lying? I don’t know. I don’t think he is. He had no reason to bring up Mom that way. It seemed sincere. It seemed resentful too. Like he couldn’t wait to tell me the truth.

“It’s over,” he repeats.

“I’m afraid it’s only just begun.”

I can feel his gaze on my cheek, but I ignore it. Besides, we’re in a dark tunnel and our vision is limited.

“Can you tend to yourself, or do you need help?” my dad asks.

“It depends on the severity of my wounds.”

A light flashes, then dims again, and the car roars as it climbs a steep incline. Once the road levels out, the driver parks the car, and the men in the front get out. The three of us stay in the back. I withdraw my hand from under Wilfred’s.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Nothing. Just making sure the ride is secure.”

I look out the window, and it appears we’re still in the tunnel. “Where are we?” My adrenaline is wearing off. Pain from the front of my body makes me sweat. My right shoulder hurts now too, since my dad yanked me out from under the table and away from the bullets.

Outside the car and around us, bright neon lights pop off. I sense movement under my feet, as if we’re being transported. Are we? Wilfred and my dad step out, with Wilfred offering me his bloody hand. My hope is that it’s not Endo’s blood. I’m unsure how I’d handle his death, so I try not to think about it. And I definitely don’t accept the offered palm.

I step out from my dad’s side.

He looks me up and down and fixes my blouse over my right breast, which fell out of my bra.