CHAPTER 223 Goodbye, Liam

*Liam*

The old gym doors creaked open, rusty hinges screaming in the quiet night. A woman’s shadow stood in the moonlight leaking through the gym's door windows. She wore tight black clothes—boots, gloves, and a ponytail that swung like a rope. The air smelled of damp wood and mold, heavy in the empty high school gym. It was one in the morning, and this place felt like a graveyard.

I was tied to a cold metal chair, my wrists sore from tight handcuffs. Four others sat with me: Dan, Jack, Noah, and Sheriff Combs. The drug Link had stuck in my neck was wearing off. I could wiggle my fingers and toes, and my voice worked again, though it hurt to talk.

Link. That traitor. He’d saved me from one mess—getting me out when the Feds had me—only to trap me in this one. I’d been on the phone, trying to call Jack to find Virtue, when Link pulled his car over to the side. Then, he shoved a gun in my face.

“Where’s Lorenzo Ortiz?” he barked. When I didn’t answer quick, he hit my jaw with the gun. Blood filled my mouth, sharp and metallic. “Tell me! Where’s Lorenzo Ortiz? The hospital staff says he’s not there.”

“I don’t know,” I said, dizzy. “Probably dead. Lisa’s mom has him—she’s got some old grudge to settle with him. Why do you care anyway? You didn’t help when he collapsed.”

Link lowered the gun a bit. “The Angels won’t come with the Feds around. But those Feds are useful—people will think someone, a friend of yours, snitched.” Then he jabbed a needle in my neck. My body went limp, but my anger burned hot.

He grabbed the papers hidden in my jacket—the deed and asset transfers I had Virtue sign. “My bosses want these,” he said. “And they want the lab.” I thought he was with the Angels of Death, sent to catch me for betraying them. But then he said, “I almost thought it’d be impossible to get you out. Maybe... I can ask *her* for a favor.”

Her. That word stuck in my head as he drove us back to New Salem. I couldn’t move, but my mind raced. Who was *her*?

Now, in this rotting gym, the woman stepped forward, her face hidden in the dark. Her boots clicked on the cracked floor, slow and sure, like a wolf circling his prey.

“I hate this place,” she said, her voice sharp and familiar. *Virtue*. My wife. “This is where it started. And this is where it ends.”

My heart stopped. Virtue, my sweet Virtue, behind this? No way. She was kind, always seeing the good in me, even when I was bad. This wasn’t her.

“Why, Virtue?” Jack mumbled, his voice rough from the drug. “Why are you doing this?”

Noah coughed, his head drooping. “He name's not Virtue,” he said. “She tricked us. She’s Joy Taylor.”

The name hit me like a punch. *Joy Taylor*? The girl from ten years ago, beaten and broken, her face smashed? Impossible. My wife was Virtue Cohen, who stood by me through every lie and deal. But when she stepped into the faint light, her blue eyes burned cold, and my world fell apart.

“Thanks for the intro, Noah,” she said, smiling in a way that wasn’t my wife’s. She walked toward me, her hips moving in that tight black suit, and even with fear in my chest, my body reacted. I hated myself for the way my body responded to her. “Hello, husband. I thought I’d have to visit you behind bars, but thanks to Link… here we are.”

“You’re not Joy Taylor,” I said, my voice thick with pain. “I saw Joy leave the hospital ten years ago. She could barely walk, her face was wrecked. Fixing that would cost millions, and George Taylor had no money. He begged my dad for a loan before they disappeared.” I forced a grin, hoping I was right. “This is a joke, right? You’re Virtue, playing a prank. Where’s the camera? Let me go, honey. This isn’t funny anymore.”

She laughed. Not the soft, melodic laugh I loved—but something hollow and sharp.

“Liam,” she said, her voice low, “if I’m not Joy, how do I know you tied me to the weight machine with my white dress? How do I know you stuffed my underwear in my mouth to keep me quiet? Or how you smashed my face with a barbell?”

The gym spun. Only Joy Taylor knew those things. My stomach twisted. She *was* Joy. And the way her eyes twitched, she was here to kill.

“I should’ve killed you years ago,” I hissed, praying my false bravado would shield me.

“But you didn’t,” she purred, drawing a silenced pistol. “And now I’m back.”

“Go to hell, you bitch,” I yelled, fear making me stupid. “You won’t kill me. You’re too weak—”

Her gun slammed into my face. Pain burst in my cheeks, my nose breaking. Blood poured out, hot and sticky. She hit me again and again, breathing hard, until my face felt like mush. When she stopped, I opened one eye and grinned, my teeth red with blood. “Death to all Taylors,” I spat.

She hit my nose again, and I heard it crunch. She aimed the gun at my head, her hand shaking, but she didn’t shoot. “Not yet,” she whispered. “I want you to see your friends die first. They’re all you’ve got, right?” She looked at the others. “Who’s first?”

No one spoke. My blood dripped on the floor, the only sound. “Fine,” she said, pacing. “I’ll pick.”

She stopped at Dan, who looked pale, eyes wide. I remembered that night ten years ago, a memory I tried to bury. Dan was the worst, swinging a baseball bat like he enjoyed it. I’d tried to stop him, but he pointed the bat at me and said, “I’ll use this on you, Liam.”

“You took everything,” Joy said, her voice sharp. “You broke my leg and arm with a bat. You used a mop handle to make sure I’d never have children. I remember your eyes, Dan. Full of hate. What did I ever do to you?”

Dan sneered, arrogant even in chains. “You were like Liam. A golden child. I hated you both." He glanced at me, cold. “Liam was useful. You weren’t. And I needed to practice my swing.”

Joy’s face twisted. She put her gun away and waved to the shadows. A man in a mask stepped out, boots heavy. He handed her a baseball bat, the wood old and scratched, and a rag. Dan’s confidence broke. He thrashed, begging, but Joy stuffed the rag in his mouth.

“You hate me, and I hate you,” she said calmly. “One of us has to go. But first, I need practice.”

She swung the bat, hitting Dan’s knees.

The bat came down with a sickening crack.

Once. Twice. Ten times.

His screams were muffled, but they made me flinch. She hit his ribs, his arms, each crack matching what he’d done to her. When she dropped the bat, it banged on the floor. She pulled her gun and shot him. Dan’s head fell back, blood pooling under him.

She turned to Jack, who’d wet his pants, shaking. “I’m sorry, Joy,” he said, voice breaking. “I feel guilty every day. I needed the money. I know sorry doesn’t fix it, but I mean it.”

“You strangled me until I saw black,” she said, angry. “I thought I was going to die, Jack.” Her voice softened, but it wasn’t kind. “Since you said sorry, I’ll make it fast.”

“No, please—” Jack’s words stopped as her bullet hit his chest. His head slumped, eyes blank, staring at me. My best friend, gone. Tears stung my eyes, but I held them back.

“What about Pete?” I asked, my jaw hurting bad.

“Pete’s dead, husband,” Joy said, showing me her phone. A picture of Pete, chained to a wall, naked, bullet in the head, lifeless. She swiped to another—Cris, naked, bullet to the head. “And here’s Cris.”

“You killed Cris?” Noah asked, shocked.

“Yup,” Joy said, almost happy. “Lisa’s next.”

“Lisa didn’t know anything,” Noah said. “She just tricked you to come here, made you think it was me. Everyone knew you liked me back then. Pathetic, really.”

I stared at him. *Why taunt her now*, *you idiot*? But Noah was always reckless, always too sure of himself.

Joy stepped closer, her eyes glinting. “Big words for a man tied to a chair. Tell me, Noah, how’d you come up with the idea to have me raped?”

“It was easy,” he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. “I wanted everyone to hate you, to see you as tainted. I wanted the Taylors to be outcasts. And it worked, didn’t it?” He laughed, a hollow, grating sound.

Joy’s eyes turned dark, but she kept asking. “And Nicole? Did she know?”

“She knew,” Noah said. “We were screwing. But she wanted Liam, dreamt of being Mrs. Cohen one day. Even tried Theodore. But she's gone now. That was me. Car accident. My forte."

“Abigail? Your parents?” Joy’s voice shook. “That was you?”

Noah nodded, unrepentant. “Abigail saved you, you know. Found you here, told me to get you to the hospital. I couldn’t let her know I was as dirty as the Cohens. And my parents? They were a liability. Mafia ties don’t exactly make you popular.”

Joy’s face was stone, but her hand tightened around the gun. Noah, oblivious, kept talking. “How about a deal, Joy? You take the Cohen empire, and I’ll be your right-hand man. Hell, since you’re about to be a widow, let’s get married. What do you say?”

He flashed that lopsided grin, the one that had charmed half the town in high school. He still thought she was that lovesick girl.

“And the others?” Joy gestured at Sheriff Combs and me.

“Kill them,” Noah said with a shrug. “They’re greedy— they want the profits without the risk.”

“Just kill me,” Sheriff Combs said, his voice steady. “I won’t apologize. Your father’s to blame, Joy. I told George to sell, to take Cynthia McDowell’s millions and leave. But he clung to that Taylor legacy like it was worth dying for.”

“My father?” Joy’s voice cracked with fury. “I didn’t have to be raped for land!” She shot him in the chest, and he gasped, blood bubbling from his lips as he slumped forward.

“So, Joy,” Noah said, still grinning. “My offer?”

She stared at him for a long, cold second.

“I want nothing to do with you.” She shot him in the leg. He screamed.

“You think I’m disgusting?” She shot him again—this time in the neck. He gurgled and slumped.

I braced for her to turn on me, but instead, the sharp tang of gasoline hit my nose. My heart stopped. *No*.

I thrashed, toppling my chair to the floor. My legs were useless, but I clawed at the ground, dragging myself toward the door.

Joy knelt beside me, her gloved hand undoing my cuffs. “The only way out is through that door,” she said, pointing. “A Cohen has to pay for the sins of his ancestors, Liam. That’s you. Goodbye.”

She strode out, her boots echoing. I crawled, my nails scraping the floor, my lungs burning. Flames erupted behind me, the heat licking at my back. Smoke filled the gym, but no sprinklers came on.

Laughter—hysterical, broken—spilled from my lips as I reached the door. I yanked it open, and the rush of air fed the fire. An explosion roared, the force hurling me into the night as the gym became an inferno.