Текст книги "Devil Smoke"
Автор книги: Max Henry
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
Extra chairs are brought in from the common room for Tuck and his men, and the officers settle in for the long haul. Sonya’s called up to make food for them all, and Dog brings a crate of drinks in, setting it in the center of the table. Normally alcohol is banned from church, but nobody needs King to explain himself. For some of these men, it could be the last meeting they’ll attend in this room, so why spend the time being a stickler for rules? It’s time to loosen up, make them comfortable, and work out a plan that’ll hopefully bring them all home.
Ty moves to sit closer to King. The two strategists work together to nut out the details on the suggestions put forward by the remaining men. All throughout, I keep to my end of the long table, watching them bicker and argue over semantics and praise one another when they make a breakthrough. My loyalty is with every man in this room, my dedication with the cause, but my heart and mind are absent from the chaos.
Where is she now? It’s a thought that circles relentlessly around my mind like a toy train left to run on an endless track. Has he hurt her? What was said? Questions clutter my focus and steal my patience. The afternoon becomes night, the new plans almost complete, and although I know that spending this time on the details will be the thing that makes or breaks the plan, I can’t stop myself from wanting them to hurry the fuck up. Ryan’s out there alone, among men who will beat her down and suck her dry of all the fight that’s left within.
She’s trying to prove she’s strong enough to fight this on her own, that she cares enough about the two of us to fight for it, and I’m afraid that despite the best of intentions, they’re still not going to be enough.
SLAUGHTER
Ryan
My hands tremble so hard on the steering wheel that I struggle to keep the car straight and pull up in the driveway without scraping Gunter’s Dodge. Somehow I manage to bring the Camaro to a stop without incident, but the tremors still remain. I sit for a moment, just staring at the sunlight dancing across my knuckles as they vibrate under the stress, my heart pounding to the beat of the executioner’s drum.
I’m never going back there. I knew it the minute I penned that note. I lied to Bronx, gave him false hope where there is none. The moment I turned the key in the ignition and headed the Camaro toward ‘home’, I sealed the deal.
Eddie and Gunter aren’t forgiving men. There’s no way I can walk out of this alive. All I can do is my damnedest to make sure none of us do.
Why the fuck didn’t I search that damn clubhouse for a gun before I left? They probably have a dozen of the things lying around. I’m going to need to head straight for the bedroom and grab Gunter’s. Talk about going in half-cocked, Ryan.
Still doesn’t change my mind. I started this mess, and now I’m going to finish it. Meeting King and the people at his club was awkward at first, but it didn’t take long to understand why Bronx gets along so well with them—they’re all good people. They deserve better than a bitter woman coming in to their home and bringing the wrath of an old English thug and a bunch of skinheads with her.
My stomach flips thinking of Bronx. I’m falling fast for the guy, addicted to how genuine and selfless he is. Throughout all of this, he’s never once blamed me for the trouble I’ve caused him. Throughout all of this he’s continued to help me despite the fact I’ve fucked everything up for him. He deserves more than a walking disaster like me. He deserves to be happy, and if I can pull this off and take down Eddie and Gunter, he will be . . . eventually.
Steeling my resolve, I open the car door and get out. The house remains quiet, undisturbed. I didn’t exactly expect a welcoming party, but I’ve been gone all night and most of the day after telling Gunter we’re through. I kind of thought I’d at least have to face him storming down the stairs to greet me when he heard my car.
As I make my way to the front door, I remind myself of the good in this situation; I get to see Tommy. Each time my determination wavered on the drive back here, it was the thought of him that pushed me on. Knowing I’d get to see how my little brother is doing kept my foot firmly on the gas, and my heart out of the decision, because if the ache in my chest had anything to say about this idea, I’d be jumping back in that car and laying rubber as I headed toward Lincoln all over again.
But what would that achieve? I started this by choosing to stay with the family after Hank brought me home, and I chose to keep it going by playing the role of adoring girlfriend, fooling not only Gunter, but myself that it was what I needed to do to find out the truth about my past. The real truth is that lying close with these thugs didn’t give me a snowball’s chance in hell of ever finding out why Harris disrupted my life like that. The real truth is that I had merely found a place where I was comfortable, where I could lie low and get by without having to think about a thing. I was provided for, and I was doted on by a man with a black heart yet the purest of intentions, and I allowed it. I welcomed that life with open arms, because it was easy. It was easier than facing the facts, facing who I’d become—weak and alone. I lied to them, but worst of all, I lied to me.
And now I’m paying the price.
I push the front door wide and walk right on in to the final act in this fucked up stage show called life.
Gunter’s seated in the armchair by the false fire, his head in his hands. Eddie is visible through the doors to the yard, smoking in the company of the only two men he trusts implicitly: Easy, and Taylor. The scene is morose, quiet, and far too fucking miserable for my liking.
“Well, look who decided to fucking show her face,” Gunter sneers. “Welcome home, precious.”
I mentally shake off the chill his tone gives me, and step toward where Gunter sits. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“Are you?” he asks, eyes narrowed.
I nod, gripping the hem of my T-shirt to save my hands from shaking. “I panicked. I got scared seeing Tommy like that. What if it had been you?”
He scoffs. My chances are slim. “So you break it off?” He steels his jaw, a thick vein making an appearance in his neck. “You thought you’d fucking leave?”
Tears, Ryan. He needs tears to believe this. I think of everything that’s hurt me: Mom and Dad’s death, Harris leaving me behind, Tommy being shot, and push out the evidence of my sadness. “Because I thought about what it would feel like to lose you, and I got scared. I thought it would be better to leave you than lose you.”
His eyebrows pinch, relax, and then pinch again as he takes in my tears. “You’re lying.”
“No,” I whine, stepping toward him, feeling my bile revolt against my lies. “It would kill me to lose you.”
For a fleeting moment, I have him. His eyes soften, his face falls, and I can see the finish line. And then the racehorse spooks. His brow furrows and his nostrils flare. “Save it, you lying slut.”
“Excuse me?” I feign shock, playing this damn role until the very last.
“Where you been, Ryan?”
“I just drove until I needed fuel. I needed time to come to terms with what happened to Tommy.” Why haven’t I seen Tommy yet? “Where is he?”
Gunter catapults himself out of the chair and marches straight for me. I back up, my instinct to preserve myself kicking in, and find the edge of the hallway wall.
“Where is he? He’s laid up in bed trying not to fucking die, Ryan.” Gunter swallows hard. “He woke up, spoke to me, and then two hours ago the asshole went to sleep and got a fucking fever.” Tears well in Gunter’s eyes, but the expression on his face is one of pure anger, and simmering dangerously close to boiling point. “Things don’t look good.”
“He spoke?” I whisper, my chin quaking.
“You’d fucking know already if you checked your messages.” My damn phone. “Where the fuck did you stay last night, Ryan?” he asks, his eyes red. But the color isn’t from tears, or lack of sleep. It’s chemically induced. He’s high as a fucking kite on something. Fucking Eddie.
“I stayed at a motel,” I mumble. Tommy woke up, and I wasn’t here to talk with him, say a final goodbye.
“You’ve never been a good liar.” Haven’t I? “Who is he, bitch.” His tone is low and menacing. I pat down the wall, looking for something within reach I can use to defend myself if necessary.
“There’s no-one, Gunter.” I start to cry for real; more out of frustration than fear.
“Why do you keep lying to me?” he roars, placing his hands on his head. “Fuck, Ryan. I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but stop fucking treating me like a retard.” He slams a hand beside my head and boxes me in. “Tell me who he is.” Gunter drops his head, chuckling. “I don’t even know why I’m playing this game. I know the guy’s been after you since he first fucking showed his face.”
“Who?” My head is swimming, and I’m certain I’m going to pass out from the stress on my heart.
“Bronson.”
I try. I try fucking hard. But the pressure behind my eyes tells me my pupils have given it all away.
Gunter sneers at his hollow victory. “Knew it.” The rage builds, the vein in his neck pulsing, and the red of his eyes growing with each heaving breath he pulls.
I sweat under his scrutiny—literally.
“Fuck you, Ryan.” Gunter rears his hand back, slamming it into the plaster beside my head. “Fuck. You.” He punches the wall again and again, trapping me with his huge body as the plaster dust rains down over me.
I cry out, shielding my face with my hands. Why the fuck did I think I could do this?
The destruction stops, Gunter’s heaving breath the only sound. I peek out from behind my hands and promptly squeal. Eddie’s aged and pale face stares at me, his eyes tracking my every movement. I didn’t hear him come in.
“Ryan, love,” Eddie greets me with the smile of a fox that’s found a cornered chicken. “We were worried about you.”
“Funny way Gunter has of showing it,” I say, pointing to the destroyed section of wall beside my head with a shaky finger.
Eddie smiles. “What else would you expect? You upset my boy.”
“Yeah? For the last three years you’ve been around us you’ve seen him repeatedly upset me, but you never gave a fuck about that.”
His face falls, his eyes darkening as he takes a single step toward me. The loss of distance is crushing. Every ounce of his hate is amplified tenfold through the single movement. “Nobody likes a crass mouth on a pretty face,” he warns me. “’Ave you forgotten what your place is, woman?”
“I think you lot have made my place abundantly clear over the years,” I tell him. I’m fucking holding the knife to my own throat, but the floodgates have been opened. He’s oppressed me for too long, and all that pent-up frustration needs an out. “Ever occur to you that any woman with half an ounce of self-respect would be a fucking idiot to put up with this shit forever?”
He chuckles, sending a chill skittering over my flesh. “I don’t need a girl who has self-respect. I just need a pretty face to distract the bastards I need to deal with day to day, a pretty face who knows to keep her fuckin’ trap shut, and who knows when she’s expected to lay down with those long legs wide open for the takin’.” He jams his knee between mine, knocking my stance wide. “You ain’t here because I respect that brain of yours, sweetheart—you’re here because your sweet little cunt is the only thing that keeps my rabid dog here docile.” He thumbs over his shoulder to Gunter who’s casually leaning on the arm of the sofa, watching our exchange, as though he didn’t just go hulk on the wall. “And here’s the kicker, baby-cakes.” Eddie chuckles to himself, making a quarter-turn away from me before spinning around and stepping right into my space, his nose near touching mine. “Nobody gives a fuck if you’re a rocket scientist or a dribblin’ vegetable as long as you’re in working order down here.” His rough hand cups the denim between my legs, squeezing hard.
My heart’s shifted to somewhere in my throat, each beat painful in my ears as the blood surges through my body. My adrenalin spikes, my senses going haywire as I place each man in the room and plot their demise. Fuck, this is impossible.
Eddie leans back a little, just far enough to be able to look me over. “If you’re as smart as you’re tellin’ me, Ryan, you’ll know what this means for you.”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea.” I’m about to be taught a lesson, and it won’t be an easy one.
“You know, sugar,” Gunter says, standing and walking toward me with a hand stroking his chin. “You made me a promise last night you never kept.”
No. Not that.
“It’s still laid out, waiting for you.” Gunter tips his chin toward the bedroom. “How about you go put it on before we get this party started?”
I look around the faces watching me with some mixture of bloodlust and sexual hunger. They might be stronger than I am, and there might be four of them and one of me, but I’ll be damned if I’m going down without a fight. Heading to the bedroom isn’t such a bad idea; at least then I can get to that damn gun.
I sidestep out from under Eddie, having to lift my right leg over his to avoid tripping. He watches me with nothing short of menace, enjoying how put out I am. My feet find their way up the hall, and the dull thuds of Gunter’s boots trail behind me. I’m focused on the doorway to our bedroom, mapping out what I’ll do to take him out as I walk, when we come to Tommy’s bedroom door on our right.
I don’t even fight it. I just stop and look inside, desperate to see him so I can convince myself he’ll be okay. His outline is visible in his bed, his face obscured by his shoulder from where I’m standing.
“Leave him,” Gunter says from right behind me. “He’s not your concern anymore.”
“Can I sit with him for a moment?” I ask, pushing aside my initial reason for being here.
I cry out as my head is ripped violently backward, Gunter’s hand fisted in my hair. “No, you can’t sit with him. Whores don’t get the same privilege as family.”
And there it is—the true reason he’s loved me all these years laid out in a few simple words. I’m his whore, his prize, the toy his father left behind when he went to the slammer.
My neck pains as Gunter lets go of my head with a firm shove forward. I rub the ache away, turning from Tommy’s outline and heading for the bedroom. The damn dress glares at me from the bed, a reminder of the exact reason why I decided to leave and search out help in the first place. What the hell was I thinking I’d achieve by coming back alone? Why did I have to be so stubborn and decide to do this all myself? Still so young and naïve.
I round the foot of our bed to stand over the dress, staring down at it as Gunter pushes the door to. He steps toward me in those god awful acid-washed jeans, his entire outfit screaming white pride more than the disgusting tattoos on his face and neck ever will.
“Being you were my girl, I get first dibs with you before those sick fuckers get to live out their fantasy. Better commit this to memory, sugar, because as rough as I’ll be, it’s going to be as smooth as silk compared to what you’ll get after I’m done.”
My body stiffens of its own accord as he moves in behind me, placing his hands over my hips and bunching the hem of the T-shirt Sonya loaned me in his grasp. He yanks it up my body, struggling against my arms when I clamp them tightly against my chest to keep the cotton covering me. His grasp falls away, the fabric pooling around my hips once more, before a firm hand violently whips me around. I stare into Gunter’s hard eyes, letting him know I don’t plan on backing down any time soon.
“You don’t have to be like them,” I say.
His pupils dilate, and then expand before he lifts a hand and slaps me clear across the mouth. I fall backwards, landing on the bed with a startled cry. “Fucking do as you’re told, bitch.” He grips the hem once more, yanking the shirt over my head, and tearing one of the sleeves in his effort to get the garment off my body.
I push up on the bed with my elbows, shunting him out of the way with my feet as best I can in the process. Gunter stumbles back, and then dives forward with renewed purpose, tearing at my jeans and bra with frantic, messy hands. I swat him away, jamming my fingers inside his hold to pry him off, and slapping at him every chance I get. We continue the struggle for what feels an age, each of us gaining ground before the other rips it away. I’m not expecting to win—in fact, I know I can’t. He’s larger, stronger, and as my thumb and forefinger crack joints under the pressure of his hold, I almost give in. But that’s not what this struggle is about. It was never about keeping my clothes on and his hands off me. It was about position—about how far I can shimmy across the bed in our struggle.
I lean to my left, reaching out and praying like hell I’ve done this right. Gunter snaps the strap of my bra, leaving it hanging off my right side as I thrust my hand between the mattress and the footboard. My fingers lock around the target, and realization dawns on his face as I wrench my hand out, swinging around to jam the gun under his jaw.
He reaches for the Desert Eagle, stalling at the click of the safety. “Don’t be stupid, Ryan.”
“Oh, I won’t.” In fact, I’ve mentally prepared myself for this moment a hundred times over in my dreams.
“Put it down.”
“Why?” I ask. “So you can continue trying to rape me before you pass me around like a fucking joint between your friends?”
“You brought this on yourself, woman.” The gun presses against my hold with each word he speaks. “You fucked with the wrong people.”
“No, Gunter,” I hiss, pushing him to stand with both the gun and my body. “You did.”
The bastard laughs. “Look around, Ryan. It’s only you and me, and a few more men who’d like a piece of what you’ve got out there. None of your new ‘friends’ are here to save you. You know why?” His eyes grow wide, exposing every bloodshot line. “Because they don’t give a fuck about you, sweetheart. Nobody does. That’s why my old man found you huddled among the trash, where you belong.”
Don’t buy into it. He’s trying to make you act irrationally, slip up.
“You’re wrong,” I growl. “They do care about me, and that’s all I need to give me the courage to do this.” I brace.
Gunter’s eyes come close to bugging out of his skull in the split-second that passes before I give my trigger finger a little tension. The kickback takes me by surprise, my arms jolting with the force. The bullet tears clear through his jaw and out the top of his skull, painting the ceiling with bits of bone and brain matter. Gunter’s lifeless body collapses at my feet, his upper half folding over onto my shins and pressing me against the side of the bed. I squeal before I have a chance to stop myself, and kick frantically to get him off, only succeeding in covering my jeans with blood.
Fragments of him are fucking everywhere. My eyes roam over the mess and settle on a chunk of flesh still containing stubbly hairs that leaves tracks as it slides down the wall opposite me. The sight does me in. I gag, and fail to make it to the window before I lose the contents of my stomach, vomiting all over the carpet as I double over, weapon still in my hand.
The bedroom door flies open, cracking into the wall as it hits. I straighten up, turning to face the cavalry as they come to a sudden halt upon seeing the mess I’ve made of Gunter. Taylor shakes his head, turning from the room with a disgusted look. Easy’s cheeks balloon as he tries to suppress the urge to do exactly what I just have. Eddie, however, is happily smooshing little pieces of Gunter into the tread of his shoes as he strides toward where I stand.
I lift the gun, placing my finger on the trigger again as I point it directly between his eyes. This time I’m not so unprepared. This time I’m ready for the kickback. Eddie lashes out, attempting to knock the gun from my hold, and I fire, the shot going astray as Eddie’s hand connects with the barrel. He takes the hit to the shoulder, and re-align the gun. I have him in my sight; his face twisting in agony is the perfect image to take him out on.
But I never manage to fire the shot. My right breast burns with an indescribable fire, spreading toward my shoulder and down to my ribs as I crumple to the floor, dropping the weapon. Taylor’s re-entered the room, and he’s armed, too.
Eddie pushes off the floor where he’s bent down on one knee, and lunges the short distance between us. His meaty hands lock on to my throat, and I suck in as much air as I can manage before his hold locks me off. Eddie’s jaw clenches, his eyes crazed and focused as he quite literally chokes the life from me.
“You won’t die yet,” he says through gritted teeth. “You’ll pass out, and while you’re asleep, my sweet little princess, I’m going to ’ave some fun with that tidy body of yours. But don’t worry, you won’t miss out.” His thumbs press harder, and black spots invade the edges of my vision as I grapple at his wrists. “No, I’m goin’ to make sure you get to experience the best part. I’ll ’ave Taylor here bring you back around, right as I start carvin’ you up from the inside out.”
My mother always told me when I was young that every situation is what you make of it. You can either choose to cry about it and quit, or you can suck it up and press on, leaving the moment behind to focus on what’s most important.
I refuse to go like this.
I’ve got someone now who makes living far more important.
Trying to get Eddie’s hands from my throat is pointless. His grip is strong, and in the time it would take me to get his fingers off my windpipe, I’ll pass out. So I improvise. I think quick. Lashing out, I take hold of where I guess his nipple is under his shirt and twist like hell. He howls, contorting his body to try and knock my hand away without letting go of my throat. All he succeeds in doing is giving me the room I need to get a good kick to his groin. I boot him as hard as I can in the jewels, rasping in huge pulls of air when his hands drop away and he buckles to his knees.
Taylor sidesteps to get a clear shot around Eddie, pulling the trigger at the same second as I drop to the floor and roll to my left. Lunging my arm out over my head, I grab hold of Gunter’s gun, giving myself an internal pep talk to keep from freaking out at the blood that’s now in my hair. There’s no time to fuck around and aim true with Taylor and Easy closing in on me as Eddie pushes to his feet, so I point in their general direction and let off a round. My wrist snaps sharply with the recoil, and I lose my balance for a second before finding stability with my free hand behind me. My ears are ringing, the sound of the gun discharging repeatedly in a small room deafening. Through it all, I make out the agonized howls of a man in intense pain and spot Taylor on the ground, clutching at his side. Blood pools fast beneath him, his fingers failing to stem the flow.
Easy clears his wounded friend in one long stride, bringing his boot up high to shunt it at my head. I turn my face away, but the heel still collects me hard in the side of the skull. Pressure blooms, my whole head now pounding as my ears ring out a high-pitched squeal. If I’ve guessed correctly, I’ve used half the clip. I have four bullets left, and two men to take down. I need to make the shots count. Rolling to my right, I crawl away from Easy through Gunter’s gore, toward the far corner of the room.
“Where you off to, Ryan?” Eddie mocks. “Where you goin’ to run?”
I’m not trying to run; I’m after a secure position. Eddie’s shoes pound toward me as I spin and scoot my ass back so I’m wedged into the junction of the bedroom walls. From here, I’m safe at my back, but he’s right in that I’m also trapped. I press the trigger and let off another shot at Eddie, hitting him in the thigh. He falters, his knee wobbling before he falls to one leg, propping himself up to save him from completely going down.
Easy pushes past Eddie, crazed rage in his eyes as he growls and reaches for my hair. His hands tangle in the blood-soaked lengths, wrenching hard to pull me up. It burns, red hot, and I scream to let the pain loose. But I also resist. I pull down. Strands tear from my scalp as he tries again to pull me upright, my fingers fumbling to get the Eagle right in my hand. I finally get a firm grip, and twist the weapon in my hold to fire at where Easy is cursing me out for not obeying.
The shot is deafening so close to my head, and the previous screech in my ears triples to a bloodletting roar. My eyes pulse with each hard pound of my skull, my nose tingling from the rush of blood at every heartbeat. Easy falls, crushing me under his weight as he folds over, and causing intense pain to shred through my injured shoulder. I scream again, a guttural roar, finding strength with each strained note that rips from my throat.
Eddie struggles to stand, hobbling toward where Taylor lies moaning with the gun just out of reach. I wrench my arm out from under Easy and point in Eddie’s general direction, letting off my second-to-last round.
“Jesus,” Eddie says. “You’re fuckin’ mad.”
Guess I missed then.
I heave Easy off myself, wriggling my legs to get my feet free. Eddie’s eyes are wide as he lunges for Taylor’s gun, wrapping his fingers about it as I hoist myelf to stand. He lifts it my way, squeezing the trigger, and frowning when I duck nothing.
The gun’s spent.
He manages to limp across to the bed to take the weight from his bad leg while I chuckle.
“Bad luck, old man.”
“You’re a crazed bitch, Ryan. You’ve fuckin’ lost it.”
No words. There’s nothing I could say that would adequately describe what years of listening to his shit and acting the good girl has done to a healthy human mind. I lock my gaze to his and open my mouth, letting out a fucking war cry as I charge the asshole. I’m not ready to waste my last bullet, so I lift the gun high in my left hand and slam the butt down hard on his head. He shields himself with his arms, stumbling as he pushes to his feet again and limps backward out of the room, all the while I’m screaming some mixture of profanities and tears at the asshole, beating him best I can with the solid handle of the Desert Eagle.
I’ve snapped, gone loco, and it feels fucking divine.
Eddie limps and stumbles toward the living room, falling flat on his ass when I rush him and shove him hard. “I fucking hate you for what you did,” I scream at him as he scuttles away from me. “You came in here and ruined everything. You tore this family apart, you sent Hank to jail, and you almost fucking got Tommy killed.” I can barely make him out through the wall of tears as I beat around his head with the gun. “You ruined my life.” Although it wasn’t my life, was it?
He takes the leave granted by my breakdown, and heaves himself out the door, falling into the driver’s seat of his car. I bite my lip to control my hiccupping breaths and fire my last bullet at his driver’s window. It misses and splinters the wood of the fence behind.
My last bullet—wasted.
I drop to my knees in the front doorway and cry, too shaken up to be able to aim true. His tires screech out of our driveway, but I can’t see much more than the red blur of his taillights as he goes. Taylor’s dying moans from the bedroom echo in my mood as I sit and reflect on everything that’s just happened. I told Eddie he’d ruined my life, but the thug was nothing more than a vessel. I blamed him for the pain I couldn’t bring myself to associate with Harris; I made Eddie carry not only his sins, but those of a man I can’t bear to hate. Because if I allow myself to resent my father, the only family I have left, what do I have?
You have Bronx.
God. He’s probably so damn worried, and I’ve got no way to reach him. I’d do anything to have him here right now, to have his arms around me as I hiccup through the last of my tears. I need to get back to Lincoln.
The distant sound of sirens snaps me from my thoughts. I wipe my nose on the knee of my jeans, realizing that throughout all this madness I’ve been half-naked, too mad with the fight to survive to care. Covering my breasts with my arms, gun still in my hold, I back up into the house and run down the hallway to the bedroom. The sight of Gunter spread out across the room, Easy slumped in the corner, and Taylor’s eyes pleading silently with me as blood runs from his lips shocks me the same as though I was seeing it all for the first time. I did this. I fought back.
Who the hell am I? A fucking warrior fighting for her right to live, is what. I never knew this was inside of me, that I was capable of something so horrific, yet brave. I took on the monsters under my bed, and I won.
I step over Taylor and pull my drawers open to get a clean bra, jeans, and a T-shirt. The sirens are close as I rip the dirty denim from my leg and replace it with a clean pair, clasp the hooks on my bra, and quickly wrench the cotton Slayer shirt over my head. Ironic. Picking up the gun, I dash over to the window and shove the latch open, pausing when it hits me. Tommy.
I dash through the bedroom and up the hall to Tommy’s room. “Tommy,” I whisper hiss. “Wake up. We need to go.” I reach out when I stop at his bedside to shake his shoulder. He doesn’t answer me. I can’t carry his weight—he needs to wake up. “Tommy,” I growl. “Wake up, please.” My voice cracks on the last word.
No. No, no, no.
My hand is shaking out of control as I strip Tommy’s sheet back and place my head to his chest. The sirens are loud outside making it hard to hear, but the lack of movement gives it away. “Oh, Tommy,” I moan. “Why?”
I have no option but to leave him where he is. I press a kiss to his cheek, stroking his jaw before bolting from the room and sprinting toward the window as I hear the first cop car pull up out front. My heart hammers in my chest while I push the window frame out as far as it will go. My feet make a dull thud when I hit the grass below, and I piston my legs to get moving. The sirens wail at me from every angle, the sound ricocheting off the fences that block in our backyard. Shouting carries across the lawn to where I’m climbing the fence frame. There’s one voice clear as day as I drop to the far side—“a fucking massacre.”
