Storm (Georgia Smoke #4)

• Prologue •

Another reason he deserved to die.

Briar

Four Years Ago

I wasn’t sure which was worse. The cold sweat that had broken out over my body or the hammering of my heart against my chest. If anyone were to look at me, they’d think I had taken something. Drug use was most likely common here. No one would think much of it if they did take notice of me standing outside the run-down trailer, where the man who had assisted in giving me life and his wife lived. I didn’t know her, and I had no intention of getting to know her. My biggest concern was her getting in the way. She’d done nothing to me, but if I had to, I’d take her out too. Because I wasn’t leaving here until Roger Ball, my father, was dead.

If it was just me he’d ruined, broken, then I could let this go. Move on with my life. The nightmares would never go completely away. I’d already accepted that. I’d learned to work through the horror and compartmentalize it. Forget the nightmare my childhood had been. But this wasn’t just about me. I wasn’t the only girl he’d broken. I had just been the first.

He’d stopped looking for me long ago. I was the last person he’d expect to show up on his doorstep. The gun tucked at my side, hidden under my jacket, wasn’t something he’d be looking for either. I wasn’t the young girl who had run away six years ago, and I wasn’t Melissa anymore either. I’d become a survivor. Fighting my battles and overcoming my past without any help.

This new life I’d forged for myself didn’t take away all that he’d done. That would always mark me. Killing Roger wouldn’t take away my demons I kept buried deep inside, but it would stop him from damaging other girls. Stealing them of their innocence. Not everyone was as strong as me. I would fight for them because I could.

I kept telling myself those words over and over as I made my way to the door, having to step over garbage, pieces of what I assumed had been a motorcycle once, and empty cans of beer. Tracking him down had been easy enough. The internet didn’t hide those who didn’t want to be hidden. This was better than the meth house he’d been living in when I left, but I doubted much had changed inside the walls he called home.

I slid my clammy hand over the cool metal at my side, reminding myself it was there. I was safe from him, but he wouldn’t be safe from me. The cool autumn breeze brushed my hair back from my face, but did little for the full-body sweat I was experiencing.

This had to be done, and I was the one who had to do it. He was a monster, and the world needed to be ridded of monsters.

Taking my hand off my pistol, I took a deep breath, then knocked on the door. A sick knot began to twist inside my stomach, and I felt bile in my throat. Being this close to him again was harder than I’d imagined it would be. It had taken me months after stealing this gun to get the nerve to come here. I’d always known I would come back for this reason alone. But thinking it and planning it were different from actually acting on it.

After a few moments, I knocked again. If he wasn’t home, I’d have to hide out somewhere and wait. I was ready to get this over with. I wanted to get away from here. Back to my new apartment that I’d been given. I wouldn’t think about how I’d been given such a nice place to live because it would bring on the shame that I didn’t have time for at the moment.

One thing at a time, I told myself.

The doorknob turned slowly, and I watched it as my hand went back to the gun at my side. There was a peephole, and I hadn’t covered it. I wanted him to look out here and see me. But the way the door was being eased open put me on alert.

Perhaps he expected me to come back one day and take his life. What if he had a gun? I hadn’t thought of that. There was always the chance he was high on whatever his newest fix was.

The door was opened barely a crack. My hand tightened its grip as I waited. He wouldn’t shoot me at his door, where the neighbors could witness it. This wasn’t the classiest trailer park. In fact, it could be defined as trashy. But even here, a woman shot in broad daylight would draw attention.

When the crack widened just a tad more, I saw no one there. My gaze dropped until a pair of eyes stopped me. They were staring up at me. A few inches shorter than I was. A girl.

My teeth clenched, and I fought off the wave of nausea.

No. Please, God, let me have the wrong apartment. PLEASE don’t let Roger live here.

She said nothing, but her eyes were haunted, nervous, and curious, all at once. I took my hand off the gun and smiled down at her. Hoping my horror wasn’t reflected in my gaze.

“Does Roger Ball live here?” I asked her.

There was a brief pause, and then she nodded her head.

I was going to be sick. Who was she? How old was she? Where was her mother? I’d waited too long. I should have come sooner. This was my fault.

“Is he here?” I asked.

She shook her head.

What did I do now? He had a kid in this trailer. I couldn’t wait for him, go inside, and follow through with my plan in front of her. This was something I should have anticipated. I’d only been prepared for the woman, Netta, being here. Not a girl.

“Is, uh, Netta here?” I asked her then.

She shook her head again. She wasn’t a big talker.

Good for her. Don’t tell a stranger too much.

But I needed to get in that trailer. I had to see things. Assess the situation. I couldn’t leave here and figure out a new plan. Not with the girl being inside. She needed protecting.

“Roger is my father,” I told her. Saying those words sent an icy chill down my spine. I hated calling him that. “Can I come inside?”

She blinked, but said nothing. We stood there like that, and I began to wonder if she was going to refuse to let me in and slam the door in my face. I tried to think of anything I could say to ease her mind.

When the door began to creak open more, I wanted to sigh in relief. The girl remained silent and stepped back so that I could enter.

The stench that met me was one I recognized. It was that of neglect and filth. I’d lived in it once too. The girl was thin. Too thin. Her clothing hung loosely on her body, several sizes too big for her. It was worn, dirty, and faded. There were no lights on, nor was there the hum of appliances. It was completely silent.

I took in my surroundings, seeing that although it smelled like a sewer, there weren’t dirty dishes in the sink, and there weren’t empty bottles of liquor or beer scattered around. In fact, there was no garbage at all. The place was just dark and tidy—well, as tidy as it could be, considering the clutter of beaten, mismatched furniture and small stuffed animals that covered every free surface. Their presence took things to a creepy level.

“Do you like stuffed animals?” I asked her in a friendly tone, trying to ease her mind about letting a stranger inside.

She scrunched her nose and shook her head.

All right, then the strange stuffies were not hers.

Please, if there is a god, do not let another child be in this house.

“Is there another child here?” I asked hoping I sounded casual.

She shook her head again, but gave me no more information. This one was like a vault. She wasn’t going to give anything up. All right, I couldn’t fault her for that. I knew that the horror of what she’d lived through here took away any trust.

“When will Roger or Netta be home?” I asked, knowing she’d have to use her words to answer that question.

She turned away and walked toward the small corner that served as the kitchen. I glanced back at the door, making sure it was closed all the way. I needed to be alerted before Roger walked inside. Seeing a light switch, I reached over and flipped it, wanting to illuminate the place.

Nothing happened.

No electricity. The silence made sense now.

I turned my attention back to the girl, and she was coming back to me, holding something. It was a dry erase board that had been written on. Reaching out, I took it and turned it so I could read it.

I dont no.

I lifted my eyes from the board and saw the marker in her other hand. Big brown eyes stared up at me. The girl had to be ten maybe? But she couldn’t spell correctly, and judging from the board in my hand, it seemed she couldn’t speak.

“How long have they been gone? Do they work?” I asked her, handing the board back to her.

She took it and used her sleeve to wipe it clean, then began to write. The board was cracked and appeared to have once been a calendar, but the print on it had worn off for the most part. I took a moment to study her while she was writing. Long brown hair, which looked like it needed to be washed weeks ago, hung down over the sides of her face. Her collarbone was prominent and made her chest appear sunken in. I glanced back at the kitchen again and wondered if there was food in there. The fridge had no electricity.

She held the board out to me again.

5 day. Mom werks at the gas stashon.

I looked back up at her. “You’ve been here alone for five days?”

She nodded.

“When did the electricity get cut off?”

She held up seven fingers.

It had been cut off before they abandoned her. Maybe I needed to kill Netta too. No. I shook my head. I didn’t know the woman. She might suck as a mother, but that didn’t make her a monster that needed to be destroyed.

The girl tucked a strand of oily hair behind her ear.

“Do you have food here?” I asked.

She dropped her gaze to the floor and shook her head.

I slowly looked over the horror that she had been left in, and I knew. I knew without asking her that Roger had been abusing her. My chest ached so badly that it was hard to breathe.

“Do you want to live here? With your mom?”

She shook her head without having to even think about her answer.

I already knew what I was about to do, but I needed to ask. If I didn’t ask, then I’d question this decision later.

“Does Roger … touch you … do things he shouldn’t to you?”

Her eyes told me what I needed to know. The fear that flickered in them as her entire body tensed was my answer. Then, she nodded.

Another reason he deserved to die. He had to die. To save others, that man needed to be put down. Like a rabid animal. But today, that wasn’t going to happen. I’d come here to save other girls from my nightmare. I wouldn’t save them all, but I was about to take this one from experiencing any more of it. I had no idea how or what this would mean with the guy I was dating since he had just put me up in a fancy apartment. But if he didn’t like it, we would move. Leave. Find us a place to live. I’d hide her. We could run, like I had been doing for the past six years. Whatever I had to do to protect her, I would.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

She took the board, erased the words, then wrote Dovie.

I held out my hand to her. “Dovie, I’m Briar, and I’m here to get you out of this hellhole. Do you want to go with me?” I had to ask even if I wasn’t going to be able to leave her here if she didn’t.

Her eyes widened, and the shocked look on her face worried me. Was she scared of me? What if she refused? How would I get her out of here?

She nodded her head, then looked back at the board in her hands and wrote another word.

Please.