Chapter 62 #2
“Seems moot since she’s departed, and you haven’t delivered on your end.”
I smile with a sickening edge.
“Or maybe you have?”
“I want her sister.”
“I’m sorry, that’s not possible.”
“Make it fucking possible.”
“She’s not here. She never was. The deal was only ever for Rose.”
What the fuck? That’s a goddamn lie. The step-monster confirmed it. So, where is Chelsea?
My flower gurgles, loud and wet, as blood tinted saliva spews from the slits between her lips. The violent cough tugs and pulls at the stitches, little bright blooms of red forming around the incision sites.
She gasps, a moan resembling the short cadence of my name coming from her throat.
Heat-laced elation fires through me and I don’t think, just act.
I drive my elbow into Maximus’s jaw, and he drops from the blow.
Richmond’s death is quick and painless. Which is better than he deserves, but he’s the biggest threat.
My bullet slides through his forehead with ease, claiming retribution for Lonnie and Rose, and many others, I’m sure.
He’s put down like the sadistic lapdog Rose branded him.
Quickly, I retrieve one of the pistols from my back, shooting out my brother’s ankle as he tries to flee. He drops in the doorway with a resounding cry.
Within seconds the fire alarms are blaring, just as Reid said they would.
Red-hot agony rips through my leg as Maximus drives a knife into my fucking calf. Roaring in pain, I unload the rest of the clip into his face, tossing Richmond’s gun aside when it clicks back empty.
Rose’s whimpers for attention morph into muffled screams. I swing my head in her direction, and witness Samuel using her body as leverage to get off the floor.
With determined limping strides, I cross the room, driving the foot of my injured leg into his face with a loud crack. The piece of shit crumples to the ground in a heap.
When I turn back to Rose, her eyes are shining. “Oh, no, no, no, flower. Don’t cry. They don’t deserve your tears, remember?”
She shallowly nods, blinking. The tears escape to slide down her cheeks.
“Are they for me?”
She rasps a quiet “Mhmm.”
“Because I chose you?”
She nods.
I lap a tear from her cheek, savouring the taste. Unable to suppress the groan that comes from me as her salty taste pricks at my tastebuds.
I lean in, wanting to press a gentle kiss to her lips, but the sight of Bradley’s blood trail leading out the door distracts me. “I’ll be right back.”
Rose’s stifled scream follows me as I limp out the door, following the trail back the way I came. Bradley’s slumped against the cabinets in the kitchen area, tea towel in hand, trying to staunch the bleeding of his shattered ankle.
“Where you off to, little man?” I say, the words reminiscent of our childhood.
“Fuck you,” he spits.
“Is that any way to talk to your elders?”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“What? Don’t recognize your own brother?”
“Kill me or get out of my fucking face.”
“That’s all you have to say? You won’t even entertain the idea that I am who I say I am. After all I did for you?”
“What? What did you fucking do?”
I breathe through my nose, reining in all the words I want to spew like acid.
I protected him then, I’ll continue to protect him now.
I hated him for leaving me, but I understood why.
Even if Lisa left him alone, our mother had a firm hand if we stepped out of line.
She never parented us so we’d know where the line actually fucking was, we would just know when it was crossed.
“I kept you safe,” I grind out.
“You stupid fucking fool,” he laughs. “You didn’t do a damn thing.”
It’s like a slap in the face.
“You had your blinders on, just like mom. I begged her to listen to me…to believe me. She refused. Said all I wanted was attention, and Lisa would never do a thing like that.”
No.
That means everything I did…everything I went through…was all for fucking nothing.
I failed him.
“Even when you thought it was safe to leave, she’d come home early. Slinking through my window like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. She’d leave before you got home, so you’d never know.”
“I… I swear I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t think you did.”
I lose my footing, leaning against the counter for support. Turning away, because I can’t bear the sight of his face, I ask, “Why didn’t you ever say anything.”
“If I did, she’d have deserted me for good. Making you carry the full weight of her fucked up appetite.”
Of course he kept quiet to protect me, just as I had stepped in to cushion the blow of my mother’s hand against him. Lisa played us against each other in the most twisted way. Using our love for each other to her advantage, getting the both of us while we were none the wiser.
“Fuck!” I snarl, the feral sound bouncing off the black backsplash tile.
Gripping tight to the sink’s ledge, I lean back. Rocking on my feet trying to corral the stampede of emotions barrelling through me.
The image conjured up by my traumatized subconscious tips the scales.
It’s a sight I haven’t let myself see in years, only now, my brother takes my place in the vision.
My sister triumphantly gazes down upon Bradley’s tear-streaked face.
He sniffles as she praises him, ruffling his hair, then she disappears like she was never there at all.
Without thinking, my foot slams into the cabinet door, cracking through it with ease. The knife in my calf wedges between splintered wood, sliding free of my leg when I pull back. The pain is sharp, burning, but fades away to nothing as I let the tidal wave of rage engulf me.
“Fuck!” I bellow this time, the sound echoing down the hallway toward Rose.
Swiping the ancient toaster off the counter, it flies through the air, a fast moving projectile.
Brad quickly ducks, covering his head, as it barely misses him, smashing into the oven door.
The glass shatters, jagged sharp pieces remaining in the frame as the door falls open, bouncing on its hinges.
The kitchen area is small, the open door of the stove taking up half the floor plan.
Bradley laughs, leaning over to lift the door back into place.
Glass cracks and crunches as he forces it up, smashing it closed.
“Hey, maybe you are my brother. He had quite the temper.” He pulls out a cigarette and lights it, huffing quietly while my chest fucking heaves in rage.
“Of course I’m your fucking brother. You think some stranger would recognize you after all this time?”
Brad shrugs, pulling the toxic smoke into his lungs while glaring up at me.
“I’ll prove it.” Crouching down beside him, I turn over the inside of my wrist. There, in between two snake tattoos, is a scar.
Old, weathered, and faded, but still legible.
Brad looks down at the “B” on my skin, the blue vein pumping beneath it, and turns his own hand over.
The “R” is still there, I can see its raised lines beneath the wisps of smoke inked into his skin.
He takes a long drag of the cigarette, lost in the memory of the night we vowed to always be there for each other, no matter what.
He slams the ember down into my skin, searing away the scar that binds us.
Outrage, shock, and pain all flare at once, and I drive my fist into the side of Brad’s face. Standing, I move to the sink, holding my other hand over the burning injury. I shove my foot into his shoulder and he goes flying sideways. “What the fuck did you do that for, asshole?”
Brad doesn’t reply as I turn the faucet on, holding my wrist under the cool water.
Another reprimand is on the tip of my tongue when I cast my sight his way. But the words flounder. Nothing but a broken, choked sound comes from my throat at the sight of my baby brother slumped and gurgling against mangled metal, a piece of the broken stove embedded in his neck.