AllFreeNovel
Share Us
After telling Sara to stand out of the way of the door, I count to three in my head before I pull the door open.
Dad is furious and he shouts in my face. “Where is she?” When he reaches out to shove me aside, I hold up the knife.
I barely recognize my own voice. “Don’t take another step.”
He must still have some lingering brain cells left, because his movements stop as he processes the venom in my words.
“It’s over, Dad.” My heart races but resolve settles in my veins. I remain still, my eyes fixed on the monster in front of me.
Dad extends his hands, his smile slowly reforming. “Look who thinks he’s done gone and found himself a set of steel.” He crudely grabs his crotch. “Go for it, boy, I fuckin’ dare you. And while you’re in prison for murder, your sister will be here all alone. Not for long I’m sure, Dom has always had an eye on her.”
The mention of Dom has the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. I’ll put him in the fucking ground right next to my old man if he ever lays a finger on Sara.
Knife still tight in my grasp, I raise it higher and tease the skin where his heart should be. But we both know the truth, if I buried it deep, the blade would pierce nothing but his hollow chest.
“You have no idea what you’re doing,” I say. “Get the fuck out of my way, or I will shove this blade right through your fucking chest, regardless of the consequences.”
He swallows so hard I see his throat move with the effort.
“You think I don’t have contacts out there.” I lift my chin with a nod toward the front door. “You think I don’t have people watching my back?” It’s a lie because there’s no one out there I’d trust with my life. He doesn’t know that, though.
“If anything happens to me, if anyone lays one hand on Sara, you’ll be six feet under before you can take your next breath. Now, move out of my way before I fucking gut you.”
Less than sixty seconds later, we’re on the run toward freedom.
The memories are relentless. Each one serves to remind me that I had one job, one purpose… protect her.
And in the end, I failed.
On the coffee table, my phone vibrates. I ignore it. A few minutes pass before it starts up again. Again, I ignore it, and go to the kitchen to grab a beer.
The vibration starts up again, this time, there’s barely a break between the incoming calls and texts. Pissed off, I storm into the living room, snatch my phone off the coffee table and scroll through the missed calls list.
Priest. Patch. Priest. Priest. Willow. Angel. Priest.
Fuck them all. They don’t understand me, and they should fuckin’ know better than to keep calling me when I didn’t pick up the first time.
Take the fucking hint… I’m not in the mood.
“It’s unfair to expect them to remember today’s date.” Wearing faded blue jeans and a baggy tee, Sara’s as casual in death as she was in life. “It’s not even the day I died, Zain, I told you that.”
Hand still clenched around my phone, I glance down at the date.Five days ago was the anniversary of Sara’s death. The only person who knows that with certainty, stands in front of me. She plays the role of an angel so well that I sometimes forget about the last months of her life, and how far from innocence she had strayed.
“Today’s the day I found you,” I state without inflection. “Priest should fucking remember that.”
Sara’s chest and shoulders rise and fall in a sigh. “You expect so much of them, yet you refuse to give them anything in return. You don’t let anyone in anymore.”
“I’m fine,” I say. I power off my phone, leave the half empty beer bottle on the coffee table, and lean over to pull on my boots.
“Talk to me, Zain.” Sara extends her arms, pleading, “Please, just tell me how I can help you.”
Sorrow and despair clash inside me along with the unasked question that’s been plaguing me for years.
“Why did you do it?”As soon as the question leaves my lips, I wish I could suck it back in.
Do I really want to know?Sara’s answer could fracture the fragile hold I have left on my sanity.Does it even matter?Her answer won’t change the outcome. She’ll still be dead and it will still be my fault.
And what if I find out that she was a willing participant? That she freely gave her life to drugs and hooking? I don’t know that I can bear her answer being anything other than“I was forced.”
