Never Give You Up. Shady Grace
hatchet with brute force. The weapon slammed down with a distinct thwack on the chair’s metal arm. The finger fell to the floor, blood spurted from Adolfo’s fleshy knuckle.
His whimper of pain and pure terror made Terry’s blood pound in his ears. And just as quickly as his face contorted in horror as he looked down at his hand, Adolfo pursed his lips, lifted his chin high, and glared at Gabe then Terry. He was tough. He could probably lose his whole hand and still keep his shit together.
Disgusted, Terry turned away. Watching a man suffer didn’t give him any satisfaction, whether the guy deserved it or not. He didn’t want to kill him. He didn’t want any of this, but he couldn’t stand back and do nothing if everything he loved would burn.
“Colton wants his finger with the gold ring, then he’s going for a dip.” Gabe leaned down and smiled at Adolfo’s hazy eyes. Tears streamed down his high cheekbones. “You hear that, amigo? I hear the ocean is nice this time of year.” Gabe stood back and held up the bloody finger. “When your father gets this, he’ll be sure to play by the rules. No more jumping over the fence.”
Having seen enough, Terry withdrew his favorite Beretta Neos and took aim at Adolfo’s forehead. He didn’t want to do it, but he had no choice—not when he felt threatened. As he exhaled and pulled the trigger, nothing in the world eased his turmoil more than the blood spurting from Adolfo’s mangled forehead, and his desolate eyes, frozen in sudden death as his blood sprayed the wall behind him.
Terry didn’t want to think about Adolfo’s family getting his finger.
With a heavy heart and more weight on his tired shoulders, he put his piece away and set the finger inside the tiny velvet box, before retreating into the elevator. “I need a fucking drink before I deliver this to Dad. How about you?”
Gabe wiped the spatter of blood from his arm and released an annoyed growl when he realized the blood trail ran all the way up the side of his shirt. “It’s not even noon yet.” He gave Terry a “what the fuck is wrong with you” look.
The elevator doors silently inched closer together. Terry put his hand out to stop them and said, “So? It’s close enough to lunch time for me.” He removed his hand and the doors closed before Gabe could argue with him.
As the elevator smoothly ascended, Terry wondered if they made a huge mistake.
Chapter 2
Brown, soggy leaves. No vase of fresh or artificial flowers. No colorful cradle to crest the headstone. Nothing but a dismal carpet of dead leaves to grace her husband’s grave.
Mary Billings, widow of little more than four months, absently toed some of the leaves around with the tip of her boot.
Nestled near a tattered and lifeless tamarack, the headstone rested in the furthest northern section of Silver Creek Cemetery. In bold letters, his name, along with birth and death dates, engraved the existence of his life. Now he was just a lone monument, tucked away from all the others in this depressing place.
That’s what you deserve.
Maybe she was a cruel person for not missing him. Did her lack of hysteria mean she was as nasty as he had been when he was alive? Now she questioned everything in life because nothing made sense anymore. She had been devastated when the RCMP first arrived with the news of his death, but with the continuing silence came acceptance. Tom had hurt her both physically and emotionally for years. Now that he was gone, Mary had a strange sense of peace.
Sometimes she wondered how drowning would feel. Did it hurt? Did you simply feel cold and fall asleep? Maybe that wasn’t harsh enough for Tom. Maybe he should’ve suffered more, as she suffered through their marriage.
Look where your stupidity got you, Tom. Look where it got me.
His sudden death had set her free. Sad to say, but she was too afraid to leave him when he was alive, and today would be her final visit to his grave. She couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t pay her respects to a man who did nothing but hurt her since the beginning of their toxic marriage.
She may have loved him from the start, when she was younger and he’d put a spell on her, but it quickly turned poisonous shortly after the wedding. His control over her was as strong and unyielding as granite.
“Goodbye, Tom.” Despite her will to be strong, her voice sounded weak, distant, as if it came from somewhere else with the wind.
She had to be tough now. Soft people never survived out here.
With a heavy heart, but an odd sense of relief, Mary returned to the north gate of the cemetery on the outskirts of her small town. She untied the reins attached to her big bay stallion, lifted up onto the saddle and urged Blue onto the road leading home. She needed the crisp air to fill her lungs and feel the connection of woman and horse today, rather than a lifeless drive in a lonely vehicle, listening to the same old boring voice on the radio. At least the noise of the wilderness sounded different every day.
She patted Blue’s neck. “Time to go home, boy. I’ll give you an apple.”
Blue had been her saving grace many nights when Tom was still alive and she needed an escape from his violence. At least Blue could take her places no vehicle could traverse. He was sturdy and strong, never afraid of an unfamiliar or rough trail, and he never argued. Blue gave her a sense of security, and belonging. Right in this moment he was her only friend.
Spring filled the air in her little mountain town, but the cheery, fresh air and new growth did nothing to set her mind at ease. She felt like that dead tamarack in the cemetery.
She was alone—alone in a small town with nobody to share her time. Her best friend was busy being in love with her new man, and everyone else stared at Mary as if she was a husband killer.
Rumors traveled fast in small towns. Some of the story was true, some of it stretched beyond belief. It first started at the café shortly after Tom’s funeral service. She heard the whispers, noticed the glares. A helicopter and a group of thugs were mentioned, and apparently they had been Mary’s friends, or maybe her father’s. Probably sent to help her kill Tom so she could keep the trapline and the house.
Maybe she was just like her father they had whispered. Crazy and alone in the middle of nowhere. But they knew nothing about her, not really. She was a quiet woman who kept to herself and plodded through life as best she could.
She didn’t have a group of female friends. She didn’t get mixed up in other people’s affairs. Maybe that was her problem. She’d never taken the time to really get to know anybody. Not in a true sense. Her only real friend was Mima.
Look at her. She pushed our beloved Tom into that freezing river. How dare she show her face here?
Sometimes she wished she did push him. After all, he thought nothing of hitting her whenever he felt the need, or whenever she didn’t do anything good enough. Did the town not know what kind of animal their precious Tom really was? Just because he was a tall figure in town and supported local businesses and charities—didn’t make him a great husband. No. People did bad things behind closed doors all the time.
She resented being treated like an outsider simply because she wasn’t well-known like Tom. And because of their shallow minds and ignorance, Mary became sour. She wanted nothing to do with most of them. Only a few treated her with respect and kindness, and they were few and far between.
Ambling along at an easy pace, she guided Blue along the side of the dirt road leading home, trying to forget the townsfolk and their notions, not at all happy to return to a house with nothing but seven dogs and a hut full of furs to be skinned and tanned, waiting for her.
The road toward home curved around huge boulders, thick wilderness, and beautiful rolling hills, all beneath towering mountains. The scenery never failed to impress her.
An hour later she unsaddled Blue and urged him into his stall in the little barn beside the house. Once he was tucked away and content with an apple treat, hay, and water, she made her way across the yard.