“You sanctimonious piece of shit.”
He reared around so sharply that I hit the wall. My head snapped back against the cinder block. For some reason, that was the last straw. I swung my fist, popping him in the nose. I felt like my face exploded. We both reeled, reaching out to brace ourselves. I tasted blood, but it was Kirk’s nose that was bleeding.
“’I didn’t kill her! It was my brother!’” I screeched Kirk’s famous words when Detective Jensen finally tackled him to the floor. “Remember that, Kirk? Remember you telling that cop that I was the one who killed her?”
“It was a strategy!”
“Strategy to get me convicted.”
He held out his arm, indicating the cellblock. “That worked out well, didn’t it?”
“Couldn’t play the conjoined card again, could you?”
“I should kick your—”
“Go ahead!” I yelled. “All these years, you’ve pretended like you were saving me, but it was you, Kirk. You were saving yourself. You always save yourself, because you’re an arrogant, self-centered, useless—” I searched for the word. I couldn’t find the word. And then I could. “Parasite! You’re the parasite. You’re the one who’s been sucking off me all these years. You think you’d be married with kids by now? You’d be working two jobs to pay child support and going to court-ordered anger management meetings! If you were lucky!”
“Hey.” Big Tiny was back. “Whatch’ all got goin’ on here?”
Kirk growled, “Shut up, Tiny. This is between me and my—”
Big Tiny’s fist slammed into Kirk’s face. My eyes rolled back. My knee buckled. A wave of nausea flooded over me.
“Over here,” Big Tiny said. I realized he wasn’t alone. There were two other men. Really big men. Angry-looking men. They dragged us back into the showers. I tried to struggle, but my head was on fire. Kirk was out of it. Neither one of us could stand.
Big Tiny slapped Kirk’s face. “Yo, you in there, dude?”
Fear took hold. Something bitter and chewy came into my mouth. It was the same taste I’d had that night when ABBA started playing.
“You there, freaky deaky?” Big Tiny was looking at me. I forced my eyes to stay open. My head didn’t nod so much as dip. “Hey.” Big Tiny leaned down to look at me. “Stay awake for me, now.”
He turned his attention back to Kirk. He slapped his face again. Hard. When that didn’t work, one of the men turned on the sink. Big Tiny cupped his hand under the faucet and beamed a jet of water into Kirk’s face.
“What the—” Kirk woke with a start. He instantly realized what was going on. We were in the shower. Three guys. Big Tiny standing in front of us.
“You know who I am?” Big Tiny asked. He rolled down the top of his pants, and I suddenly realized his name was not nearly as ironic as I’d previously thought.
“You know who I am, you murdering bastards?”
Kirk and I looked at each other. Was this a trick question?
“My name is Mark Connor,” he said. “Mindy was my sister.”
“Shit,” we both whispered.
“This here’s payback time,” Big Tiny said. He motioned for his boys to hold us down. Their hands were like clamps on my neck and shoulder. I felt my stomach lurch, my breath catch, my vision tunnel.
Kirk glanced over his shoulder at Big Tiny, then he looked at me. My brother didn’t seem scared. His eyes were full of hate, defiance. I felt a thrill in my heart. We were in this together. We would fight them off with our bare hands. Okay, we would more than likely lose and be defiled in unspeakable ways, but we were brothers again. Flesh and blood. Skin and bones. Heart to heart.
There is no friend who sticks closer than a brother.
Kirk smiled. I smiled back.
“You ready for this?” Big Tiny asked.
“Sure,” Kirk told him. “Do whatever you want to the asshole.”
Enjoy this Special Bonus Chapter from Karin Slaughter’s latest bestseller, FALLEN
Excerpted from Fallen by Karin Slaughter. Copyright © 2011 by Karin Slaughter. Excerpted by permission of Delacorte Press, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
CHAPTER ONE
Faith Mitchell dumped the contents of her purse onto the passenger seat of her Mini, trying to find something to eat. Except for a furry piece of gum and a peanut of dubious origin, there was nothing remotely edible. She thought about the box of nutrition bars in her kitchen pantry, and her stomach made a noise that sounded like a rusty hinge groaning open.
The computer seminar she’d attended this morning was supposed to last three hours, but that had stretched into four and a half thanks to the jackass in the front row who kept asking pointless questions. The Georgia Bureau of Investigation trained its agents more often than any other agency in the region. Statistics and data on criminal activities were constantly being drummed into their heads. They had to be up to date on all of the latest technology. They had to qualify at the range twice a year. They ran mock raids and active shooter simulations that were so intense that for weeks after, Faith couldn’t go to the bathroom in the middle of the night without checking shadows in doorways. Usually, she appreciated the agency’s thoroughness. Today, all she could think about was her four-month-old baby, and the promise Faith had made to her mother that she would be back no later than noon.
The clock on the dash read ten after one o’clock when she started the car. Faith mumbled a curse as she pulled out of the parking lot in front of the Panthersville Road headquarters. She used Bluetooth to dial her mother’s number. The car speakers gave back a static-y silence. Faith hung up and dialed again. This time, she got a busy signal.
Faith tapped her finger on the steering wheel as she listened to the bleating. Her mother had voicemail. Everybody had voicemail. Faith couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard a busy signal on the telephone. She had almost forgotten the sound. There was probably a crossed wire somewhere at the phone company. She hung up and tried the number a third time.
Still busy.
Faith steered with one hand as she checked her BlackBerry for an email from her mother. Before Evelyn Mitchell retired, she had been a cop for just shy of four decades. You could say a lot about the Atlanta force, but you couldn’t claim they were behind the times. Evelyn had carried a cell phone back when they were more like purses you strapped around your shoulder. She’d learned how to use email before her daughter had. She’d carried a BlackBerry for almost twelve years.
But she hadn’t sent a message today.
Faith checked her cell phone voicemail. She had a saved message from her dentist’s office about making an appointment to get her teeth cleaned, but there was nothing new. She tried her phone at home, thinking maybe her mother had gone there to pick up something for the baby. Faith’s house was just down the road from Evelyn’s. Maybe Emma had run out of diapers. Maybe she’d needed another bottle. Faith listened to the phone ring at her house, then heard her own voice answer, telling callers to leave a message.