Chapter Four
E ntering his mother’s house had been as easy as Rebel had thought it would be.
He slipped through the window opening into the dark interior of a spare bedroom that his mother used as a storage closet.
If his mother and her new lover were sleeping in the same bed, then he would need to bide his time. He didn’t want his mother waking up bathed in blood.
First, though, he’d check.
Sure enough, the man lay in bed next to her when he eased the partially open door open. The fucker was snoring loudly, sounding like a steam engine rattling the room.
Rebel fingered the hilt of his knife. It would take only a second to slit the guy’s throat and be done with it.
His mother was legally blind but could see things very close, so maybe she wouldn’t notice the blood when he sliced and diced her lover.
But at that moment, his mother shifted.
“Hank, roll over,” she said grumpily and elbowed the guy.
“Wha… hu…” Hank snorted, sputtered, and then rolled onto his side.
Rebel retreated to the dumpy kitchen and sat on the edge of the counter rather than at the trash-filled table. He’d placed a dish towel beneath his ass to protect his pants from the grease on the Formica.
No way in hell was he waiting in the living room. That place with its shit brown couch and recliner gave him the creeps because there was only a small window.
Here in the kitchen, he was near the back door and freedom.
He couldn’t be in enclosed spaces. Savage had said that it was called claustrophobia.
Rebel didn’t give a shit what it was called, to him it was survival.
As the hours passed, Rebel wondered if he’d need to wait for daylight to do the deed. Didn’t anyone get up to get a fucking drink at night? He shifted his ass; it had gone to sleep a few times and he had had to get up to make it stop.
A creak sounded down the hallway.
Thank fuck. It was about time!
Pulling his knife, he slipped off the counter. He was totally unprepared when his mother’s lover flipped on the kitchen light.
Shit, he should have thought of that.
The man spotted him across the short distance and gaped, eyes wide.
“Who the fuck are you?”
Rebel lifted his knife and advanced, but the guy was awake and shoved the kitchen table at him. It toppled and Rebel dodged around it.
“Hank?” his mother said, coming down the hallway with her hand on the wall.
“Get back, Dory, and call 911.”
Rebel leaped, but his mother stepped into the kitchen at the same time and Hank deflected the knife blow. Rebel punched the guy beneath the chin, but Hank hung on. They crashed into the tipped-over table, sending trash and debris flying. Pans rattled on the stove when Hank flung him against the old white appliance. The black iron burners clanked and one fell with a bang to the floor.
Rebel was losing his grip on the knife because Hank was a big motherfucker and his grip was desperate, born of wanting to live.
“Stop it!” his mother screamed, grabbed the broom, and swung it hard.
The bristle end of the broom smacked Rebel in the back and then in his head.
The knife flew out of his grip and clattered to the floor. Rebel kicked Hank in the junk and the man released him, doubling over.
“Rebel!” His mother smacked him again.
Lifting his arm to protect his face, the broom hit hard.
“Ow.”
“What the hell are you doing!” she shrieked, holding the broom on him like a sword.
“I saw him manhandle you at the front door.”
“He was guiding me into the house.”
Rebel reached over and picked up his knife and gripped it tightly. “Why is he in our house?”
“This isn’t your house.”
“Get lost, you fucking loser,” Hank said, standing with a grimace. “She don’t want you here no more. You bring nothing but trouble.”
“She’s my mother, you’re just her latest fuck.”
His mother’s palm cracked against his cheek, shaking him so hard that Rebel’s ears rang.
Rebel stared at her in shock. “You’re defending him?”
“Look, you’ve chased away the last three boyfriends I’ve had. I’m sick of it.”
“Mom, they weren’t any good.” Exasperated, Rebel’s hands waved about.
She took a deep breath and released it. “You know I didn’t want to tell you this but…I’m not your mother.”
The silence that swept through the room pounded against his ears like a void.
That was what emptiness felt like, he was sure of it.
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not.” She lifted her chin, gripping the broom tightly. “I found you behind Ted’s Liquor store off Stevenson Street and brought you home.”
The room billowed and the air wobbled around him as if he had suddenly been placed inside a giant bubble. A thick layer that would pop and leave him lifeless.
“So, get the fuck out of here,” Hank said from where he stood next to his mother.
No, scratch that. She wasn’t his mother.
He lifted his knife but something hard grabbed him from behind.
Fuck!
He had placed his back to the door.
Some assassin he had turned out to be.
With a scream full of rage, Rebel fought the hold. The sounds emerging from his throat filled the kitchen.
Crow tightened his grip on Rebel, keeping the slender man from escaping, but it was a struggle.
Only his military training gave him the upper hand over Rebel’s desperation. Applying pressure to a critical point, Rebel slumped into his arms.
Slinging the man over one shoulder, he stared at the woman Rebel had thought was his mother.
The lying bitch.
“Don’t ever attempt to contact him,” Crow snarled.
“Don’t worry,” she snapped waspishly with a sneer, squinting at him, trying to see who he was, but he knew her vision was very limited.
Crow aimed a cutting glance at the man. After one second, the guy lifted his hands and spoke hurriedly.
“I saw nothing.”
“Keep it that way. You don’t want me to come back here,” he said with menace.
The man visibly swallowed and the woman took an involuntary step backward, bumping into the counter.
Crow strode out the door without a backward glance.
The motherfuckers weren’t worth his time.
He only hoped that Rebel would also come to see it that way.
Somehow, Crow doubted it.