We recovered at about the same time, and we both went for the gun.

Neither of us found it; he must have knocked it off the bumper when he slid me out of the trunk. Yes, there it was—under the car beside the back tire. Since I was closest to the ground, I saw it first. I ducked beneath the car in its pursuit.

Malachi grabbed my foot and began to tug. I started to kick out with the other leg, but he caught that one in his free hand. I let him have it. I even let him drag me out from under the wheels, feeling the dirt and rocks crawl up my shirt and scrape my stomach. No, no more struggling from me.

I let him extract me because I had the gun.

I pivoted in his grasp. He held on to my feet, but his arms were now crossed, elbows bent at uncomfortable angles. Malachi had pulled me into the sunlight only to stare down the barrel of his own pistol.

“Hey there, Sunshine.” I smiled.

He let go of my legs and his body sagged forward a little. A dark spot was spreading below his right collarbone; he must have split a few stitches. He backed a step or two away, out of my personal space. I kept the gun trained on him with one hand and used the other to pull myself up against the vehicle.

Above us, the sky was blue, going on gray. I could swear it was about to rain, or perhaps it was getting dark. The day could not be as late as it looked unless I’d been out of it longer than I thought. I heard a rumble somewhere distant—an oncoming car, I hoped, but it was more likely thunder.

I wiped a stray tangle of hair out of my face.

“I’m not who you think I am,” I said, just for the record. My voice was only barely quaking, so it came off well. “You’ve never understood—not even for a second.”

He didn’t reply. He stood there patiently, waiting for me to shoot him. Making peace with his God, or something like that. Bleeding profusely, at any rate. If there was one thing Malachi knew how to do besides pray, it was bleed.

“What do I have to do, Malachi?” I think it was the first time I’d ever called him by his name. “Do I honestly have to kill you?”

“Yes, Avery—”

“I’m not Avery!“ I yelled, and the coming thunder gave me an echo. “I’m not Avery, you insane son of a bitch! I’m your sister!”

“That can’t matter. You’re here,” he retorted. I couldn’t tell if I’d told him anything new or not. Had he known all along that we shared a father? Had he cared?

“What? What’s that got to do with anything?”