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I pocket my phone. The moonlight casts long shadows across my childhood home as I approach, the key already in hand. But as I climb the three steps, I notice something isn’t right. The front door, usually solid and always shut at this hour, is ajar and hanging oddly—the warm glow from inside spilling out into the darkness.
Stepping closer, the sound of muffled voices raises goosebumps on my skin. Their tones are too harsh to belong to my father.
“Hello?” my voice falters against the thickening silence that answers me back. My pulse thrums in my ears. I hear a grunt and thud, making my heartbeat quicken.
With cautious steps, I nudge the door wider. “Dad?” I try again, hoping for the familiar gruffness of my father’s voice. Instead, the house seems to swallow my words, leaving me with nothing but unease.
Every instinct screams at me to flee, turn on my heel, and run. But this is my home, and where is my father?
I slide my hand along the wall, fingertips grazing the familiar wallpaper, seeking the switch. Light floods the hallway, casting away the shadows of the hall but doing little to dispel the knot of fear coiling tighter in my stomach. As I near the light glowing from the end of the hall, I hear another noise, a low whine that is quickly muffled.
“Who’s there?” My voice cracks, showing the unease I feel as I fight the urge to run back out of the house.
“Fallon McAllister, as brazen as ever, walking into the lion’s den.” A man’s voice, edged with mockery, slices through the tension, making me spin around to find him now blocking the exit. I gulp down the fear that lodges in my throat. I take in the man with gloved hands, wearing a leather jacket and jeans.
“Who are you? What do you want?” I demand, though my voice trembles slightly, giving away my fear.
“Where’s my father?” I ask, trying to hide my panic. But the question hangs in the air unanswered, amplifying my dread. The man points to the living room, and my eyes dart to it nervously.
Panic claws at my throat as I turn and move to run for the stairs, but the man’s strong arms wrap around my waist. I thrash and kick, trying to escape, but he tosses me quickly into the living room, the muffled voices falling silent as my body hits the ground with a thud. My gaze frantically sweeps the room until it lands on a sight that roots me to the spot—a crumpled form lying motionless on the floor.
“Dad!” The word tears from my lips, raw and laced with fear. I scramble to my feet and rush to his side. My hands tremble as they find his wrist, searching for the steady rhythm of life. His pulse throbs faintly beneath my fingertips, but he’s bleeding from his head, his gray hair matted where some has congealed. The sight of him sends a jolt of terror through my veins.
I lean close, my ear hovering over his mouth, needing the assurance of his breath against my skin. It comes shallow and strained, but it is there.
“He’s alive,” comes a deeper voice, making me remember the man from the hall. I turn and find four others in the room with me.
The room seems to shrink as the group of strangers materializes from the dim corners, where shadows cling like cobwebs. Four of them in total, each with a grim set to their mouth and eyes cold enough to freeze blood.
The tallest man leans against the wall, his arms folded across a broad chest. Another toys with a silver lighter, the flame flickering like a serpent’s tongue. The third had his fingers drumming a steady, ominous rhythm on the back of a chair. His gaze fixates on me with unnerving intensity. And the fourth is a woman; she stands with predatory grace, her eyes sharp and calculating.
“What have you done to him?” I snap, the words laced with venom. Fear grips me, but anger lends me a vicious edge.
“Oh, she’s feisty,” one man taunts.
“So demanding,” the man with the lighter drawls, snapping it shut with a click that echoed too loudly. “You should be more worried about what we want from you.” He smiles wickedly.
“Stay away from my father,” I warn.
“Or what, Fallon?” the tall one asks, a smirk playing across his lips as if he relishes this game.
“Or I swear I’ll—” My threat dissolves into silence; they are not the kind to be intimidated by empty promises.
“Look at her, all fire and fight,” the woman chuckles, stepping closer. She crouches before me, her hand moving to squeeze my face. The scent of her perfume is cloying, a sickly sweet mask for the danger she poses, and her plump red lip pulls up into a sadistic smile, her long, sharp nails digging painfully into my cheeks.
“But fire can be snuffed out,” she whispers, then shoves my face away. I watch her rise to her feet, my eyes tracking her as she glares at my father behind me.
The room falls into a suffocating silence at her words, the kind that lingers just before a storm unleashes its fury.
“Your father,” the woman begins, her voice smooth as honey yet laced with a venomous undertone, “made an unfortunate decision.”
I swallow hard, my heart hammering against my rib cage as I wait for her to continue.
“He thought he could lift a little something from Mr. Pressutti’s safes.” Her lips curl into a cruel smile when I notice the glint of her name badge under her open jacket. I realize she works at the Casino, but I’ve never seen her before, making me wonder if she works at one of his other establishments.
“Let’s just say your dear father tried to play a game he couldn’t win,” a man with cold eyes interjects, his tone mocking. “He gambled with his life this time.”
One man in the room tosses a duffle bag on the floor beside me, cash spilling out, and my eyes widen when I see my father’s janitor’s badge lying on top. He wouldn’t, no, I refuse to believe them until I remember the strange look he gave me at the Casino.
