His mother pushed past him with a sob, dropping to her knees beside the chair to check on his dad. His father shoved her away, knocking her back on the floor. Climbing to his feet, he pushed past Max and headed toward the bedroom.
Max sidestepped his mother, where she kneeled on the floor, looking lost and confused, and hurried over to check on Sarah.
His sister was sitting back against the wall, pinching her nose closed as she tried to stop the bleeding. Damn, her nose was almost certainly broken. He was going to have to get her to a hospital, though he had no idea how to explain why she’d ended up this way. There was an outreach clinic over on Owens Avenue. Maybe they wouldn’t ask too many questions.
“Can you stand?” he whispered. “I have to get you out of here.”
Sarah nodded, letting him help her up. He’d just slipped his arm around her waist and turned to lead her to the door when the look of terror on his mother’s face made him freeze.
Max snapped his head around in time to see his father coming into the room, his face still covered in blood and a big gun in his hand. It took Max a second to comprehend what the hell was happening, and by then, his old man was pulling the trigger.
Max shoved Sarah aside, then lunged at his father. He had to get the gun away from his old man before he shot his sister.
Two bullets zipped past Max before the third hit him in the stomach. All the air went out of him, and he stumbled, forcing himself to keep moving, churning his feet and refusing to think about what the pain in his gut meant.
As he tackled his father, Max felt another round clip his right hip. He ignored that stab of pain, too, focusing every bit of energy on getting his hands on the gun. They struggled on the floor, slamming into the walls, the furniture, and each other. His father cursed, promising Max he was going to kill him.
The gun went off twice while they were grappling over it. Max had no idea where the bullets went. One or both of them could have hit him for all he knew. He only prayed Sarah had gotten out of the way.
Max grit his teeth, feeling the strength leaking out of him along with his blood. Before long, his father started wearing him down. Then his old man was on top of him, crushing him to the floor and twisting the gun out of Max’s grasp and aiming it at Max’s head.
Max lashed out with his right fist, his left hand reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time. He didn’t realize he’d hit his father in the throat until his old man started coughing. But none of that mattered. The only thing Max cared about was getting the barrel of the weapon away from his head. Max grabbed the gun with both hands and shoved it away from him just as it went off again.
His father collapsed on top of him, crushing out what little air remained in his lungs. Max tried to gasp for more, but his chest wasn’t working right, and no air would come. His fingers were numb and slippery with blood, and he couldn’t hold on to the gun anymore. He braced himself, sure his father would jerk the pistol free and put a bullet in his head, but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
Instead, his father rolled off him, onto the dirty carpet with a loud thud, blood staining the front of his shirt.
As he lay there on the floor gasping for air, Max realized the nightmare was finally over. Well, as over as it could be, considering he’d killed his own father and was slowly bleeding out on the living room rug.
Then he heard the pitiful sounds of his mother crying in that same gut-wrenching way she always did after Dad had beaten her, Sarah, and him. At least the piece of shit would never be able to do that to any of them ever again.
Max tried to call Sarah’s name, but he didn’t have enough air to get his throat to work. Having no other choice, he slowly rolled over, grunting as pain that hadn’t been there before ripped through his body. Ignoring the dizziness, he pushed himself up on his hands and knees, then closed his eyes as blackness washed back and forth across his vision, teasing him with the possibility of passing out. When the wave of weakness finally receded, he opened his eyes again. What he saw stopped him cold.
Sarah lay on the floor unmoving, blood running down the side of her head.
Their mother kneeled beside her, hands clasped together as she rocked back and forth, sobbing. When she wasn’t staring blindly at his sister, she was glancing over at Max’s father.
Tears filling his eyes, Max forced himself forward, needing to check on his sister. Sarah was only a few feet away, but it still seemed to take forever to get to her.
“Call the police,” he told his mother, the words barely audible.
She turned her gaze on him but didn’t move. “What have you done?” she whispered over and over.
Max wasn’t sure whom she was referring to with that question. It could have been him, his father, maybe even herself.
Even though he knew it was too late, Max took Sarah’s slender wrist in his hand and felt for a pulse. One of their father’s stray bullets had hit her in the temple. Sarah had never had a chance.
One moment, Max was holding her wrist, wondering what chance either of them ever had. The next, he collapsed to the floor beside her. Everything around him was getting fuzzy when the police kicked open the door and charged in, weapons swinging back and forth in search of a threat.
Max would have laughed if he could. One of the neighbors must have called when they heard the fighting getting loud. If the cops had gotten there a few minutes earlier, maybe it would have mattered. Now they were just here for the cleanup.
Max was still marveling at how rare it was for the cops to show up in this part of town at all when the blackness folded in on him and he hurried to catch up to his sister.
Chapter 1
Dallas, Texas, Present Day
