I attempt to jerk away from him, but he’s so strong. When the paralyzing fear finally releases my voice to me, I let out a bloodcurdling scream. He shoves me to the ground before tugging his jeans down farther.
My resistance seems to fuel his resolve. He jerks at the button of my jeans, ripping it off. My vision starts to go black when he continues ripping my clothes off, going for my shirt next, the buttons scattering around as it splits open. My limbs are numb. I struggle against him, my back getting scratched up with the rocks and sticks under me.
“Get off me!” I scream, desperately searching around for some kind of weapon to fight him off with. I’m reaching for a rock within my grasp when I make eye contact with a familiar set of dark eyes belonging to my older brother Holden.
His murderous gaze is latched on to Cain. My throat dries when I see the gun in his hand glinting in the moonlight. He raises it and aims for the head of my attacker.
This is all my fault.
“Get the fuck away from her if you want to live to see another day.”
4
SAM
PRESENT DAY
“You need to get out of this damn depressing house. We’re going out. Go take a shower. You smell like shit,” Duke barks at me.
I’m lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling of my bedroom. I’m tempted to tell him to fuck off, but he’d probably do something dramatic, like beat my ass. Plus, he’s right. I haven’t left my house since the funeral two weeks ago.
Has it really only been that long?
“Where are we going?” I sit up, groaning when he jerks the blackout curtains of my room open, illuminating the dark cave I’ve been rotting in.
“I don’t know—a party or something. Maybe you need to get laid, remember what a woman feels like and rejoin the land of the living.”
He starts sorting through a pile of my dirty laundry. I doubt there’s any clean clothes left.
I stand, stretching my arms overhead. I’ve been wearing the same sweatpants for three days, since the last time I showered. He’s right; I smell like shit.
“I need a drink.”
As if reading my mind, he tosses me a beer. I catch it, popping open the tab and chugging half of it before walking into my en suite bathroom.
The house I inherited from my grandfather was built eighty years ago, but the classic black-and-white tiles my grandmother chose for the bathroom have stood the test of time. The shiplap walls could use a fresh coat of paint. My grandmother loved the ocean, so she decorated the massive house with a mix of coastal and Western elements.
I turn the knob of my walk-in shower on. The glass needs cleaning, and I’m sure the grout could use a good scrubbing.
All right, the whole damn house is a pigsty.
I step under the cold spray. I grit my teeth, letting the icy water shock my system and wake me up. I’ve been floating between drunk and hungover for days. I squirt some shampoo out of the bottle into my hand and scrub it through my hair. It’s getting too damn long. I brush my teeth for twice as long as usual, still in the shower.
My mind drifts back to the few days I spent with my grandfather before he passed. Buzz was a man of few words, but when he spoke, I listened.
His only child was my mother. She was a meth addict and a prostitute, but like all little boys, I loved my mama with my entire being. She died when I was seven, and CPS didn’t find my only living relatives until seven months after her death because she’d cut off contact with them years before. My brief experience in foster care was almost as fucked up as the beginning of my life, but it was the only time I ever knew what it was like to have a sibling.
Buzz shared bits and pieces of why they cut off contact with my mother and the abuse I’d suffered before I was placed with my grandparents permanently. I didn’t realize how much of my early childhood memories I’d blocked out of my memory. It was almost like he knew he was dying.
His one big regret was not fighting for custody of me sooner, but they’d had no idea how bad my mother’s addiction had gotten. I told him it wouldn’t have mattered. If he’d forcibly taken me from her, I don’t know if I could’ve ever forgiven them and loved them the way I did.
He never said a word about my biological father. I’ve never known who he was.
I watch the soap and water swirl down the shower and let my brief trip down memory lane wash away with it. There’s a reason I have a chronic avoidance and detachment issue. It’s easier than dealing with the pain and trauma.
After scrubbing my whole body, I step out and look around for a towel. There are no clean ones, so I have to use a dirty one from the floor. I dry myself off before wrapping it around my waist.
When I walk out of the bathroom, Duke is looking out the window, down at the driveway. He turns to me.
