Almost immediately the pain in my stomach eased. I let out a relieved breath. But before I could get too used to the less shitty sensation, Dionysus’s palm cracked across my cheek. My head snapped back.
“Don’t fucking patronize me, bitch!”
“I tore the label off my mattress,” Morales called. “And when I was a kid I stole a piece of gum from a gas station.”
Dionysus rounded on my partner but not before I caught a glimpse at the pure rage on the psycho’s face. He marched over to Morales and placed the gun’s muzzle between his eyes.
Fear crawled up my throat on spidery legs.
Morales’s face morphed into an expression of bored contempt. A look that proved this wasn’t the first time someone had pointed a gun at my partner. A look that dared the asshole to back down just like all the others had done.
“Don’t tell him, Kate.” He kept his eyes on Dionysus.
Instead of responding, the man with the gun lowered the barrel. The gun exploded. Shayla screamed. Morales groaned in pain. I reared up and was hit upside the head with vertigo. Through blurry vision I tried to assess the damage to Morales.
His body was slumped over, but he was moving. “Drew!” I shouted, blinking rapidly.
“I’m okay,” he growled.
Dionysus moved toward Morales. A split second later my partner hissed. My vision cleared enough to see Dionysus pressing a thumb into a bullet wound on Morales’s left leg. “Next time I will shoot him someplace vital.” He turned wild eyes toward me. “Tell me, Detective.” He pressed harder, and Morales clenched his teeth to trap a scream.
“Don’t, Kate,” he panted. “Don’t.”
But blood was spreading over the left side of Morales’s body. And the pain in my midsection was creeping like poison vines. And telling the truth wasn’t just a compulsion but a requirement, like breathing.
“I lied!” I shouted.
Dionysus went still. A devilish smile emerged from the beard. “About what?” he asked in a seductive tone.
I swallowed to wet my dry throat. “About the Bane case.”
Morales stilled, and his eyes rose to look at me with an expression filled with fear. For some reason I knew this fear wasn’t for him or us, but for me and what this admission would mean.
“I cooked magic for John Volos.” I barreled ahead now because with each word the agony in my middle lessened. “I read the Gray Wolf potion, I used what I discovered to complete the antipotion, and then I promised Volos I would keep the identity of Bane’s accomplice a secret so John could go after the guilty party himself.”
Dionysus made a smacking noise with his lips, like he was savoring the admission. “My, my, that is juicy.” He turned toward me. With his free hand, he jerked my face up by the chin. His fingers dug into the skin and his gaze bore into me. “But you only told part of the truth.” He leaned in. “Who was behind the potion, Kate?”
Behind the madman, Morales was shaking his head, willing me to resist. But I was so tired. Tired of the pain, yes, and the fear. But more than that, I was fucking exhausted from carrying the weight of this secret around on my shoulders. Tired from pretending I was the kind of cop who could collude with criminals because the ends would justify the means. Tired of not getting credit for saving my brother’s life. Tired of being in debt to John Volos and at the same time wishing he’d make good on his threats against Uncle Abe. Of knowing I needed him to exact the vengeance I couldn’t legally pull off.
“Who was it, Kate?” Dionysus yelled.
I opened my lips to complete my confession. But before I could form the words, Morales shouted his own confession. “When I was undercover, the coven I’d infiltrated killed a dirty cop. I helped them hide the evidence.”
All sound evaporated. Air became an endangered resource. A chill passed through me like a ghost.
Morales’s eyes were hot and focused on me. Waiting to see my reaction. But the muscles in my face weren’t cooperating and all I could do was stare, slack-jawed.
There are moments set apart from reality. Like stepping off a treadmill and tripping into stillness. This was one of those times. I felt removed from my body, staring down at smug Dionysus, nervous Shayla, defiant Morales, and a pale, shell-shocked woman.
Dionysus spoke from far away. “Now we’re really having fun!”
Time suddenly caught up with me and my conscience fell back into my body with the impact of a meteor.
“It’s quite a shock, isn’t it?” Dionysus said. “To find out that people you admire are nothing more than carefully constructed shells.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off Morales. “Is it true?”
“Of course it is,” Dionysus said impatiently. Both he and Shayla were watching me, because that’s where the drama was. “If he were lying he’d be dead.”
Morales nodded slowly. I noticed his hands were busy plucking at his bindings. Then his eyebrows rose and his gaze darted toward our captor. Toward the gun in Dionysus’s hand.
I knew instantly what he was planning. “Goddamn it, Morales! How could you cover up something like that?” I leaned over, as if trying to find comfort. The move allowed me access to the corkscrew and its dull knife.
“Don’t you fucking judge me,” he shouted. The outburst captured the rapt attention of both Dionysus and Shayla. I furiously sawed at my bindings. “I did what had to be done, Prospero.” His voice had a convincing defensiveness to it. So convincing I worried I’d misread his intention. “But who are you to judge? I’m not the only one here who’s rationalized shitty decisions.”
“I cooked to save Danny’s life. You covered up a murder to save your job!”
“And you haven’t kept your secret to save your job?” he challenged.
Dionysus crossed his arms and watched me closely, like he was anticipating a complete meltdown.
Part of me wasn’t sure if we were acting anymore. The anger his comeback caused certainly didn’t feel fake. I palmed the corkscrew and sat up, careful to hold my wrists together. Looking into my partner’s eyes, I played out the charade. “Fuck you, Morales,” I said in a low, mean voice.
“No, fuck”—in a burst of motion, Morales launched himself up from the bench—“you!” He slammed into Dionysus like a wrecking ball. The weight of both men slammed into the boat’s bow.
Shayla screamed and started dancing around, as if she were confronted with a mouse instead of two grown men pummeling each other as they grappled for a gun. Launching myself out of my seat, I tackled her. We slid across the slick floor until her head slammed into the gunwale.