“But Finn has a gun,” Sonia said dubiously.
“That’s why we’ll have to use the element of surprise,” Ray replied. ”We’ll conceal the nails in our fingers—kind of like the brass knuckles prisoners use—and then when one of us gets close enough to him, we go for his neck. Maybe I’ll get a chance when he gives me the paperwork to sign.”
“You mean … kill him,” Sonia said breathlessly.
Ray scooted closer and fixed an earnest gaze on her. “Listen to me, Sonia. We have two small children who are depending on us. If Finn kills us, they’ll both be at his mercy. You need to be prepared to do whatever it takes to protect them from this monster.”
A light seemed to go on in Sonia’s head and she nodded. ”All right, I’ll do it—whatever it takes.”
Time dragged on and the light was beginning to fade, but eventually the heavy tread of footsteps signaled Finn’s return to the cabin. Sonia immediately lay down on her side and tucked her hands between her legs, feigning sleep. Ray pulled his knees to his chest, heart thumping as he waited for the key to turn in the lock. Moments later, the door creaked inward and Finn’s imposing frame filled the doorway. In one hand, he held a lantern which he set on the small table in the corner of the room, before striding over to them. “I’m sure you two had a nice chat while I was gone. Time to get down to business now.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a pen and some paperwork. ”Sign here,” he barked, thrusting it under Ray’s nose.
“You know this won’t hold up,” Ray said, glancing at the documents. ”You need a notary to witness this.”
“Let me worry about the technicalities,” Finn replied with a sly grin. ”I have an ex-military buddy who owes me a favor.”
Ray slid a glance at Sonia who was pretending to stir in her sleep. Gripping the pen awkwardly between his fingers, he signed the form Finn held out in front of him.
“Much obliged,” Finn sneered, slipping the paperwork back into his pocket. He kicked Sonia with his boot, and she yelped, her eyes popping open. Cowering from him, she pulled herself into a sitting position.
“It’s time you and I had a little talk in private,” Finn said, leaning over to cut her feet free from the iron ring. The minute he did, she fell on her knees in front of him, sobbing dramatically.
”Please let me go, Finn. Jessica needs me. I swear I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Do what you want to Ray. Just let me go back home to our baby.”
Shock decimated through Ray’s brain. He slowed his breathing, trying to think through the fog of fatigue and confusion closing in on him like a dark hood—the prelude to his execution. What was Sonia doing? His trust in everyone had been eroded. Why should he hope it would be any different now? The dreadful thought that she was selling him out hung there for an elongated moment. If he was going to survive this ordeal, it wouldn’t be by relying on anyone else. He tried to stem the relentless surge of panic shooting through his veins as he worked feverishly to retrieve the nails from his sleeve and position them between his fingers.
Finn reached down and seized Sonia by the hair. As he hauled her to her feet, she flew at him like a wildcat, plunging the nails between her fingers into his neck. Blindsided by the attack, he staggered backward, roaring in pain, his hands reaching for his neck, spurting blood.
Hope and determination fused as one, powering Ray into action. In a burst of speed, he grabbed Finn by the ankle and toppled him. Struggling to gain the upper hand, Ray yanked the gun from Finn’s holster and aimed it at him, adrenalin pulsing through his veins. “Stay down, or I’ll shoot.”
Groaning, Finn rolled onto his side and made a feeble attempt to get to his knees. He tried to say something, but the only thing that came from his throat was a dying gurgle.
32
THREE MONTHS LATER
Lost in her thoughts, Sonia stirred the pot of chicken chowder she was making for Sunday brunch. It was one of her mother’s old recipes—a feel-good staple from her childhood. She had invited Ray and Henry to join them, knowing they wouldn’t be around for too many more weekends. The nostalgic aroma wafting into her nostrils brought a smile to her lips as she recalled the many happy, carefree days she’d enjoyed as a kid.
She hadn’t had a productive week of work since Finn’s death—since she had killed him. What she had done hung over her at times like a dense cloud, invading her sleep at night, thwarting her ability to think straight by day. A tightly wound ball of grief and pain remained stubbornly lodged in her throat, the ever-present threat of tears like pepper in her eyes. A classic case of PTSD, her therapist had explained. The trauma of enduring years of abuse had resurfaced, demanding to be heard now that her abuser was dead.
In the early years of their marriage, Sonia had spent many a sleepless night worrying about Finn stepping on an IED, or dying under a barrage of enemy fire, or laying down his life in some equally heroic fashion. Never in a million years had she imagined he would die at her own hand—anything but a hero.
Killing someone, especially the man you had promised to love and cherish until death do you part, was proving to be no easy thing to live with. Ray, on the other hand, had been mercifully released from the terrible burden of believing he had killed his brother. She was happy for him, of course. But every time Sonia went to sleep and woke up again, the stark reality of
