It’s so damn cold I might freeze to death before I get the proof I need to take down my sleaze ball of a father.
If there’s a colder place in the outskirts of New Orleans than the midnight shadows crawling over the old freight yard, I’ve never found it. I slip from my car and silently close the door. The air tastes of rust, ozone, secrets, and a metallic tang that clings to the back of my throat. It settles deep in my bones, right next to the ache I’ve been carrying for three years. I glance up and yep…even the moon hides behind a veil of fog, casting everything in the kind of half-light that turns iron rails into snakes and every echo I hear into some eerie threat I can’t see.
I pull back a cut section of the chainlink fencing and squeeze through it, unnoticed as far as I can tell. There are several feet of snow between me and the nearest building. I make a mad dash across the open space and land hard against the outside wall of New Orleans’ oldest train station. Crime lords love abandoned places, and this one fits all the requirements my father needs to stay under the radar.
No one to witness what’s about to go down, it’s out in the middle of nowhere and long forgotten by everyone. From the looks of it, even the teens of the area don't come here.
But the railways still work, and from the looks of it, that is all that matters.
My fingers are stiff with cold, but I keep them tucked inside the sleeves of my faded hoodie, clutching my phone like a lifeline as I dash toward the edge of the abandoned loading dock and hunker down.
The concrete beneath my boots is slick with ice and I force myself not to fall on my ass or shiver from the dread creeping up my spine. If one of my father’s men catches me out here, it wouldn’t take much for them to off me and bury my body.
But it’s damn hard not to let the chill in my blood freeze me up.
I can be scared later. Right now I need to be invisible and pretend I’m a freaking ghost. Truth be told, if my father knew where to find me, I’d be put under a lock and key faster than the Euphoria he pushes through the veins of New Orleans can kill an unsuspecting college kid.
Sadly, I’m not even joking.
A train whistle cries in the distance, mournful and low and fuck if it doesn’t bring tears to my eyes. Maybe it’s the time of year doing it to me, but I can’t help but wonder what Phantom is up to. Three years ago, nearly to the day, I walked out on us all because of the blood in my veins. I thought that would be the last time I would have to sacrifice something because of the family I come from, but tonight proves me wrong.
Once again.
But like clockwork every Thanksgiving and Christmas I wonder if he’s found someone new. Has he settled down and started a family like he dreamed about when we were an item?
I’ll never really know, but I wonder.
I press deeper into the shelter of stacked crates, hidden from the naked glare of the floodlights mounted along the station’s walls. Spread out in front of me, the tracks stretch in both directions like rusted veins feeding a monster I know by heart.
New Orleans.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a hint of shadows crawling along the gravel. My father's goons. Assholes who think they are God because they have a decent body count under their belts and degrees in how to be ruthless with other people’s lives.
Shit.
I duck down and hold my position. Low voices carry over the night air and cut through the hum of the brewing storm, an incoming engine and the slow clank of couplers. I don’t understand a single word of what they are saying, but there’s an urgency to their rushed sentences.
I hold my breath and listen.
Russian? I think. Though I don’t speak the language, I know the even cadence of the syllables. From the flat tone, it sounds like something has gone wrong. The man speaks with a heavy mix of violence and irritation. Just like my father.
I check my phone again, scanning the last message from my brother, even though I have it memorized, word for word.
He’s bringing in a big shipment. Get proof, E. Don’t get caught. Don’t let him see you. Send it to the cops, or better yet, Savage Reign. You do this, and I’ll owe you everything. Do it for Shawn.—M
That last line is like a knife to the heart. Our younger brother died helping our father with his ambition of being one of the biggest narcotics pushers this country has ever known. Frankly, both my father and younger brother shared a drive for power and money, no matter the costs.
Our younger brother wanted more which led him to betray our father and well, that caused my brother’s untimely death.
After discovering my brother’s betrayal, our father lost the little patience he had with his family. Now my father wants anyone who isn’t fully on his side dead.
Namely me, if he ever found me. You see, I swore to my father over my brother’s casket that I would see him buried alongside my brother no matter what it took. That didn’t make him too happy.
He pulled a gun on me and it took an army of his men to keep me on this side of the living.
Before I was thrown out of my brother’s funeral, the man who raised me, kissed me goodnight until the day I went off to college, and told me he loved me every day of my life, looked me dead in the eye and made a promise of his own. He swore anyone I ever loved would meet the same fate.
That night I found out I was carrying the enemy’s baby. To keep everyone I loved safe, I faded away. Right or wrong, it was easier that way. And I’ve lived heartbroken with my decision for three years.
