I slowed to a sight in the distance. My tired body dropped to the ground. Creepy crawlies snaked my skin, little feet traipsing over my leg, questioning my disruption of their peaceful night.
Blackness gave way to illumination. Gravel crunched ahead as a vehicle slowed to a stop.
And just when I thought it was all over, I was lifted by my arms and tossed into the back of a truck for this to start all over again.
Woodrow
The shot had taken him down. I had no idea who he was or why he was upstairs. I hadn’t even heard him come in. He must have been here for hours, arriving while I sat in the yard with mud up to my elbows. A sickening feeling washed over me as I wondered if he was here to abuse my girl.
That made the vision of the hole in his chest easier to look at, the remains of his black heart leaking from it. I was never meant to be a killer. The violence was always Hell’s thing. . . but he’d given up fighting with me, feeling rejected by me. There was only me here. Me and a shotgun, intent on saving those I loved.
“Please, God, let her find help,” I prayed, watching through the doors as her hobbling image got smaller and smaller.
I kept the gun in place, knowing I’d find my father standing behind me. And I turned to find him exactly where I thought he’d be, standing in my shadow.
“That was a mighty good shot, kid.”
I swallowed hard, because every swallow was hard since he wrapped his giant hands around my throat.
He saw my struggle, and it brought a smile to his lips. “Go get your girl.”
“No.” I point blank refused.
“She’s not leaving.”
“Sheisleaving.”
A bang rattled something in the kitchen. It sounded like glass combusting under the pressure of the growing heat, and that was exactly what it was.
My father turned, not caring that I had a gun on him. His own—much smaller than mine—was hanging out of the waistband of his checkered boxers. They looked like the tablecloth, and they were filled with just as much grime.
His eyes moved back to me from the flames in the kitchen. “What the fuck have you done?” he asked in his intoxicated state, only now realizing the house was on fire.
“Your empire crumbles tonight. Now, do the decent fucking thing and go upstairs to get your daughter.”
“She won't come to me.” He laughed. “God, kid, you missed a lot while you were away.”
My eyes squinted, trying to see the meaning hidden in his words, when I was distracted by a floorboard delivering the alert of someone else present.
I had no choice with my throat in its condition to angle my whole body in the direction of a small sniffle.
Nessie froze; her fright coming out in a brutal gasp as she saw my gun on her.
“Nessie,” I spoke softly, lowering my gun to prevent her fear escalating.
She had enough terror already rattling her tiny body.
“It’s okay, Ness.”
“No, it’s not.” Her brown eyes—like our father’s but so much more beautiful—landed on him. Her lower lip stuck out, vibrating as she forced out more words. “I need to reach Hell, Woodrow.”
“What? Why?”
“I need Hell.” She stepped forward, moving down another step, and something fell from beneath her pink nightdress with her favorite princesses on the torso. My eyes moved over them, following the clack as the cross bounced down every single step.
“No. . .” My attention movedto my father. My anger on him as quickly as my gun.
I now realized why there was another man in this house. He wasn’t here for my girl; she was a bonus prize. The creep was here for Nessie, because the sick fuck in front of me was allowing his daughter to be pimped out. His eight-year-old daughter. And, for what, because we didn’t need fucking money. He had enough of it buried all over this land.
