Brian Freeman - Stripped

“I’ll kill her.”

She wanted to tell him to go for the gun. Fuck Blake. Put an end to this. But she couldn’t make a sound; all she could do was watch the world start to spin and darken. Her limbs felt as powerless as a marionette’s. She wondered if it had been like this for Amira, dying here.

She heard Blake’s labored breathing. His arm didn’t let loose. He was killing her, choking her second by second. The blood began roaring in her brain, and her nerve ends exploded like firecrackers, causing a headache that made her skull feel as if it would burst open.

Her eyes met Jonny’s. He floated in her vision and did somersaults. Go for the gun, Jonny.

Stride took a step toward the gun.

“I’ll kill her,” Blake repeated.

Serena felt his other arm slide over the top of her head and grab her hair. He was going to twist her neck and snap her spine. Then through the blackness that was falling down on her, Serena realized that Blake could barely hold her head with his other hand. Snap. His wrist was broken. Fragile. Vulnerable.

She hoped she could stretch her bound arms over her head. She told her limbs what to do, and somewhere between the confused impulses shooting from her brain, her arms obeyed. She reached up to the top of her head with her bound hands and took hold of Blake’s wrist and clamped down on the bone as hard as she could.

Blake screamed. Serena jerked on his wrist. For just an instant, Blake’s other arm came loose, and Serena wriggled free, gasping for air, feeling blood rush back to her head. She stumbled, unable to keep her balance.

Five feet away, Jonny ran for the gun. So did Blake.

Blake was closer to the gun, but Stride was on him before he could reach for it. He threw Blake against the parapet so hard the killer slammed into it and bounced off. Stride was waiting and threw a sledgehammer punch directly into Blake’s face that snapped his head back. Blood sprayed from his mouth. The killer staggered back into the wall, and Stride followed, hitting him again.

Stride felt a stinging, bone-deep pain in his hand. He realized he had probably broken a couple of fingers.

Blake crumpled to his knees, and his head slumped forward. He teetered and then collapsed on the ground, not moving. Stride took a deep breath and reached around behind his back to snag his handcuffs.

He looked down. Something was wrong.

Behind him, Serena saw it, too, and shouted, “Where’s the gun?”

Stride realized he didn’t see his gun anymore. Blake had deliberately pivoted his body to fall on top of it. Stride saw Blake’s arm moving and saw the man pushing himself off the ground, the gun in his other hand.

Blake aimed the gun, not at Stride, not at Serena, but at himself.

He pressed it to the side of his head. He could barely keep it steady.

“Drop it, Blake,” Stride told him.

Blake dragged himself to his feet. He staggered back to the wall. Stride and Serena edged closer from two sides.

“Give us the gun,” Serena said.

Blake gave them a bloody smile. He put his bad hand around one of the onion domes atop the parapet and braced himself, grimacing in pain, as he pulled a leg up onto the wall. The gun wobbled in his grip. He pulled his other leg up, too, and stood, precariously balanced on the slim stone edge of the wall. Blake swayed, the wind toying with him.

He took the gun away from his head and casually tossed it off the top of the building.

Stride took a step forward, but Blake held up his hand, stopping him. Blake shook his head. He took a long look at the ground below.

“Amira,” he said.

Blake leaned into the wind. He spread his arms wide.

“Don’t do it, brother.”

The sharp voice from the terrace stopped him in the moment before he let go. Blake looked around and steathed himself on the wall. So did Stride and Serena. Stride couldn’t believe what he saw.

It was Claire.

She was standing by the pool, with Serena’s gun in her outstretched hands. She was pointing it at Boni’s head.

Claire, what the hell are you doing?” Serena demanded.

Claire didn’t look back. She stared down the sights of the gun at her father and walked toward him step by step, slowly, until the gun was an inch from his eyes. Serena saw Claire’s whole body trembling. There was hatred in her face and a world of hurt gushing out like oil from a well.

Boni didn’t even seem to notice the gun. His blue eyes and her blue eyes were locked in a duel. Claire was crying, and she struggled to keep the gun level.

“Now you know what it felt like for me,” she said. “Powerless.”

“What do you want, Claire?”

“Tell Blake the truth,” she said. “You owe him that.”

“I don’t owe him anything,” Boni snapped.

Claire shook her head. “You murdered Amira, didn’t you? Because she had the fucking gall to try to get out from under your thumb. Because she didn’t want to be owned and controlled anymore.”

“I loved Amira,” Boni told her.

“Everything you love gets hurt,” Claire retorted.

“I can’t talk about it.”

“It was forty years ago,” she insisted. “No one can touch you now.”

“You may as well kill me, Claire, if that’s what you want. I’m not going to say anything about Amira.”

“Is that what you want? You want me to pull the trigger?”

‘For God’s sake, stop this,” Serena pleaded with her. She started to move toward them, and Boni held up one hand to stop her.

“It’s all right, Detective,” Boni said. He focused on Claire. “Kill me if you want, sweetheart. I just wish you wouldn’t throw away your own life to do it.”

“Does my life mean more to you?” Claire asked. She tilted her head back and shoved the barrel of the gun under her own chin. “How about now?”

“Claire! No!” Serena shouted.

Boni looked at his daughter. Serena thought his eyes were filling up with tears. “You’re so beautiful. Just like your mother.”

“Do you think that kind of shit will work on me now?” Claire asked. “What’s next? You’ll tell me how much you love me? That doesn’t mean a thing.”

“I do love you”

‘’Do you think I won’t do it?” Claire demanded, pushing the gun harder against her skin. “Is that it? I’m your child. You know I will.”

“If you thought it would give me enough pain, yes, I know you would.”

“Look at us!” Claire said. “This is the family you’ve built. Look at your son on the wall. That’s what you did to him. And you know damn well what you did to me.”

Boni recoiled as if he had been struck. “Please, Claire, don’t go there.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I airing our dirty laundry in public? Am I embarrassing you?”

“Claire,” Boni begged her. “No.”

It was as if Claire smelled a wound and steered for it like a shark. “You knew what that bastard did to me.”

Serena didn’t know who Claire was talking about, but Boni obviously did. He was visibly shaken.

“It was a terrible misunderstanding,” Boni said.

“Misunderstanding? You accused me of being drunk. You said I led him on. You knew that was a lie.”

“I didn’t want to believe what he had done to you.”

Boni raised his arms, reaching out to her, trying to touch her. Claire stepped back and flung the gun into the pool, where it splashed into the opaque water. She screamed, “He raped me!”

“Claire, we can’t talk about this. Not here.”

“Oh, no, no, of course not. It might endanger the empire. It might hurt him. My God, he raped your own daughter, and you covered it up”

“I’m so sorry. So very sorry.”