Page 157 of Pretty Broken Wings

I just… lost my job. I got paid. I can leave now. Go chase my dreams. I look for that feeling of elation. Freedom. I can finally do what I want.

But there is no elation. And for one wild second, I consider throwing the glasses in the trash outside, pretending like they had never come in.

Then Axel comes into the kitchen. I hide the package behind me on the counter as Axel says in a serious tone, “Hey, something happened. We need to talk.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

5 Hours Earlier

I didn’t become a lawyer to figure out how to kill people and get away with it.

So how the fuck am I here? Asking my mom to drive me to go murder her husband?

Well, I didn’t tell her that. I told her he and I had some things to discuss from the night of the party.

Which isn’t technically a lie.

Mom drops me off, and I tell her to head to the one and only coffee shop in this area. She’s happy to give us some privacy. Mom always was a sucker for everyone getting along.

I’m counting on the fact that we’re out in the middle of nowhere, and the sheriff’s department is small and underfunded. Underfunded means very little training for specialty cases, AKA telling the difference between a suicide and a murder. Mom would never suspect I had done anything. Hell, a few weeks ago, I would never have suspected I could do anything either.

But it was like meeting Raven got me unstuck. Like she breathed oxygen into my crushed lungs, and now, finally, I can do what needs to be done.

My hands shake. There are still so many things that could go wrong.

There’s a slight moment where I’m standing in the long driveway, and my brain screams at me to turn around, but immediately, I shut it down and walk toward the house.

Each step I take sends a calm through me. The birds sing, and my steps are crisp. Even though it’s mid-day, it’s still cold.

Rich touched my brother.

A wave of heat washes under my skin. It’s the same feeling I had when Dad was hitting Mom. Helpless anger.

Only this time, every step that takes me closer to Rich’s place drains the helplessness and fuels the anger. Before I realize it, my leather-gloved hand is knocking on the door to the small, one-story cabin with the attached garage.

It takes Rich a long time to come to the door, but I know he’s home. I know he was up early hunting and came back mid-day to eat and drink or dress whatever he caught.

Finally, I hear shuffling behind the door, and I adopt Axel’s lazy stance. Then it opens, and Rich is there, blinking in the bright light. For a second, his face twists into a smirk.

“Axel.”

I shove inside with a cocky grin on my face, just like Axel would. Rich steps back.

“Finally decided to take me up?” Rich asks.

I grunt, pulling up my shirt and slipping the pistol from my waistband. I got it from the town crazy lady. The kids all say she’s a witch. She does have all kinds of odd things in her store, including guns. This pistol has been bought and ‘gifted’ so many times that it would have no way of being traced back to me. Unless she talks. Which she won’t. Some of my clients have known her to give the ‘abuser special.’ Never thought I’d need it too.

Rich glances at me, then at the gun, then turns away. “Gonna take more than a pistol to take down a deer, son.”

“What about a person?” I ask, voice lowering as a deadly calm creeps across my body. I’ve played this out in my head so many times that it feels like I’ve already been here before.

Rich tosses a look over his shoulder, then does a double-take, seeing I’m pointing the gun in his direction. I’m not aiming it. I’m too close. Don’t want him reaching out and grabbing it. That would force me to shoot him, and that’s harder to dress up. But also, I can’t aim with the small sights, even with the glasses.

“What are you doing?” Rich asks. He puts on his hard voice, but I hear a slight rasp.

“Giving you a choice.”

“Gage?”