CHAPTER 17 AFTER PATCH LEFT, I TRADED OUT MY BEACH cover-up for dark jeans and a tee, and zipped myself into a black Razorbills windbreaker I’d won at last year’s eZine Christmas party. Its hands were frozen on the six and twelve, having stopped the moment Patch left for good. A strange silence settled in between the shadows, and I realized the grandfather clock had stopped beating. I glanced around, expecting him to have stepped out of my view, but he wasn’t there. I looked up, glaring, intending to make Patch leave with the intensity of hate and loathing in my eyes, but I was alone in the hall. “Go away,” I said, my voice quiet, but not steady. “Every time you kissed me and held me, knowing what you did to my dad-” I choked and turned away, falling apart when I could least afford it.

“You deserve everything that’s coming to you,” I told him. The only thing that could make me sorry is if the archangels beat me to it.” A flash of hot black crossed his eyes.

“I’ll make you pay for it,” I said, my voice still oddly foreign. He stood in place, his face cold with shadow, mildly satanic. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed the hour, a heavy, reverberating sound. “You’re the Black Hand.” I watched his face, praying he’d somehow refute it. “Who told you that?” “Then it’s true?” I realized my hands were balled into fists at my sides, shaking violently. After a moment of silence, he said, “You’re asking me like you think I might know.” “I know you’re the Black Hand.” I shut my eyes briefly, feeling my whole body sway under a wave of nausea. “What happened that night?” I didn’t bother trying to hide the desperation in my voice. It was the voice of someone who was filled to the very tips of her fingers with hate, devastation, accusation. “Do you know who killed my dad?” My voice was cold and controlled, and not my own. I dug my teeth into the inside of my cheek to keep my voice from unraveling. But I wasn’t going to let him go without asking the question that burned my every thought. I was tempted to hurl something after him I thought about slamming the door at his back. Go have fun while my world hangs in the balance.” I told myself I wanted him to go. I’ve got to run.” “That’s right,” I snapped. “We’re going to have to finish this later.

And it wasn’t a favor-I commandeered it.” He gave his watch a second glance. “You’re actually enjoying this, aren’t you? ” “One of these days I’m going to come to collect on the favors, and then I’ll really be enjoying it.” “You didn’t loan me the Jeep,” I argued. “We can work it so you pay me after each individual favor, but I figured a tab would be easier.” His smile was a taunting curve.

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